


Penumbra Queens

by zavocado



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AHAHAHA, Childhood Friends, Dragonstone Childhood :D, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and Dany raised together on Dragonstone, Jonerys, Marked for major character death because I haven't decided yet, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Prophetic Dreams??, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaegar is still married to Elia AND Lyanna but the romance is gone, Targaryens Win on the Trident AU, The Others - Freeform, Winter is Coming... eventually you nerds, eventually, rating will likely change once they're older, they're just wee kids rn so no smut, title might change too, undecided on if it will come back or not later in the story, we shall see, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 118,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24889456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zavocado/pseuds/zavocado
Summary: When Rhaegar rises triumphant from the Trident, Robert Baratheon dead at his feet, life changes in unexpected ways for Westeros. A different king, a different future, a different choice, but the cold winds of the far north still blister and burn, waiting for the last dawn before an endless night...
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Past Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen - Relationship, past Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen - Relationship
Comments: 1032
Kudos: 932





	1. DAENERYS I

**Author's Note:**

> So here is the start of the Targs Win on the Trident AU I've been mentioning in notes on some other stories. Annnd it's my 30th work on AO3! :D
> 
> As a heads up, we're starting with some little kids, namely Jon and Dany as munchkins. There are still a LOT of things up in the air on how this story will progress, so it's as much by the seat of your pants as it is the seat of my own. There will be drama, of course, and humor and politics and family learning to be with one another, and our favorites coming of age in different lives and different places. And dragons, of course. A dash or two of smut once they're old enough perhaps ;)
> 
> And yes, that Major Character Death tag is not a mistake. I haven't fully decided on that part, but at the moment, I think it's very likely later on. We shall see.
> 
> Also, like is pretty normal for me and ASOIAF/GOT stories, I'll be pulling from both book and show, though I try to lean a liiiittle bit more toward the books. I'll also be rotating POVs. Current list of likely POV characters is Dany, Jon, Rhaella, Lyanna, Elia, Rhaegar, and perhaps Aegon or Rhaenys and some Stark kids and others outside their families later. Lots to discover along the way with this one.
> 
> So, here's a new adventure, and some new lives, but the same old love and bond as only Jon and Dany can share!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Daenerys, not so far!”

Dany splashed amongst the warm waves, ignoring her mother’s shouts in favor of following Jon further into the tide. Her nephew—whatever that meant—wasn’t much older than herself, but he was stronger and taller. His mother, Auntie Lyanna, said it was okay to be tiny. She herself had been a wisp of a girl. One who used to beat on her brothers when they fought with sticks in the godswood and chased them all over on quick feet. Dany didn’t want to beat on Jon, not too much anyway. He was her very best friend, no matter who came off that ugly old ship today.

“Come on, Dany!” Jon giggled in the surf, his dark head bobbing above the water. His curls sparkled in the sunlight. “There’s fishies nibbling my toes.”

She swam out to meet him, despite her mother’s continued shouts. Jon spat a fountain of water at her. His wide smile was full of holes where his teeth had fallen out. Dany shoved a wave of water at him and tried not to be jealous. Eight months wasn’t much of a difference in age, but Jon was six now. Every one of his baby teeth had loosen overnight, and then he’d taken a rough tumble while sparring with Ser Arthur. Seven teeth had ended up on the ground in a pile of blood. He’d never smiled so much as he did now. 

Dany was glad for that. Jon’s smiles were like sunbursts or moonglow. Nothing made her quite so happy as when he smiled at her, except her mother’s hugs. But now, Jon was so far ahead with missing teeth, Dany didn’t think she’d ever catch up.

“Over here,” Jon said, he reached for her hand and pulled her closer. He stared down at the water and giggled some more. “Look at all of them.”

Dany peered into the water. Under the pale waves, a school of bright blue fish had stopped around Jon’s legs. He gave a kick and the swarm brought her into their circle. She laughed with him, sunlight reflecting off the water, half-blinding her as they nibbled at her, too. Little tickles danced along her bare legs and on her toes.

“See? I told you it’s better out here.”

“Maybe we’ll see a shark,” Dany said, grinning at the thought of all the pointy teeth. They weren’t quite dragons, but they both had great big sharp teeth. “We could tame one and ride it like a dragon!”

“Dragonstone doesn’t have any sharks. Maester Cressen said so,” Jon said sensibly. “I bet my brother and sister saw some. Their mother’s from Dorne and they have them down there.”

He smiled at her, all gap-toothed and silly. Dany loved him for it, for not calling her stupid like Viserys did. Jon gave instead of demanding. Her second brother had decided he was the Lord of Dragonstone now, and he thought it made him magnificent. Dany thought it made him stupider than he’d ever been before. He wasn’t a good lord like her first brother, Rhaegar. That’s why Rhaegar got to be king and Viserys didn’t.

“Maybe we can go visit them since they’re visiting us.”

Jon frowned. “Mama won’t like that.”

He’d never left Dragonstone since his mother had brought him here as a newborn. Dany had been born on the island. Today, Jon’s half-brother and half-sister were finally coming to meet them, and neither Jon nor Dany were excited about it. For Jon, it was dreading how unhappy his mother got when Rhaegar was here; the fights they always had. But for Dany, she feared much more.

Jon had been her only and best friend her whole life. The castle had young servants, cupbearers and stable boys, and the smallfolk on the island had little children of their own, but Dany had never been allowed out to play with them. Instead, she and Jon were confined to the castle’s towers and gardens, the cliffs, and the steep, winding stair that led to their secret beach. He was her very best friend in the world… but Jon might change his mind once he had a brother and sister to play with instead. Aegon might be better at swords than Dany was. Rhaenys might know more about dragons or have better ideas for adventures. They were both bigger and older after all.

Dany smiled at him and gave his dark curls a yank. “I bet there  _ are _ sharks if we swim farther.”

Up close, Jon’s eyes were a startling dark gray that reminded her of Dragonstone’s normally overcast sky. Deep summer had changed that somewhat. Today the sky was a robust blue, the lagoon calm enough for them to swim if they stayed close to the beach. He beamed at her and turned toward the stretch of barrier rocks that held back the worst of the sea.

“Jon, that is too far!”

Jon’s face fell. They squinted back toward the beach where their mothers waited. Rhaella’s pale hair shined bright against the rocky shore, but Lyanna blended in. Like Jon, her hair was a tangle of dark curls, a Stark of the north instead of the silver-gold of Valyria. But her dress was a brilliant blue like a beacon calling them back to shore.

“But Mama, the fishies don’t come closer than—”

“ _ Jaehaerys _ , you have until five to get back to shore.”

Jon scowled at the use of his full name. Dany gave him another splash as Lyanna’s exaggerated counting began. 

“Aegon and Rhaenys will be here soon,” Dany said. “I bet they’ve got more missing teeth than you.”

“They do not!”

Ser Arthur met them in the waves crashing on the beach. Cloaked all in white and gleaming armor, he was a huge man, dark of hair and skin, but violet-eyed like Dany and her mother. He scooped one of them up under each arm and carried them back to the rocky shore.

“I think real dragons would listen better than you two,” Ser Arthur said. He set them down beside Lyanna, his trousers and boots soaked and dripping. “My lady, the royal escort will be ashore soon. They sent Ser Barristan ahead and are expected just before the feast.”

Lyanna scowled, and Jon’s sullen frown deepened. She grabbed a towel and plucked Jon up. He protested at having his hair rubbed and his mother doting on him. Boys his age were supposed to, or so Dany had been told. But when her own mother picked her up and did the same, Dany squalled and complained all the way up to the castle, too.

She was bathed and scrubbed, then dressed in a ruby red and black gown with a big three-headed dragon sigil stitched from hip to neck. As Lyanna helped braid her hair, Jon fretted as he was stuffed into a fancy doublet of dyed black wool. Unlike Dany’s, Jon’s sigil wasn’t only a dragon. The same red dragon was set on his chest, but the gray wolf of House Stark was stitched over it’s chest, the three dragon heads curling behind. Auntie Lyanna always insisted on it.

Jon tugged at the lacy collar and scuffed his boots on the stone floor.

“Do we  _ have  _ to get all pretty for him?”

“Yes,” Lyanna said as she pinned a silver brooch to her chest. Like Jon, she wore the direwolf of her house, both as a brooch and on the back of her flowing cloth-of-silver cape. “Here, my love, you’re old enough for this now.”

Dany watched as Lyanna opened a trunk next to the biggest window in the solar. She came back with a sword. It wasn’t a longsword, too thin and too short, but it was real steel when she eased it from the sheath.

“I had it made special for you, Jon. The perfect size for a growing boy. It’s not sharp,” Lyanna explained when Rhaella began to protest. “But a prince ought to look the part.”

“He’s only six, Lyanna, honestly.” Rhaella fixed her own three-headed dragon brooch to her shoulder and wound the silver chain through it and around her waist. “A sword, even dulled, is a great responsibility.”

But Jon was bouncing on his feet. Shaking, he took the sheathed sword and the black leather belt in awe. Dany laughed at his expression.

“You look like those fishies.”

Jon didn’t respond to her teasing. He fumbled with the belt, trying to hook it around his waist, but the weight of the sword made it awkward. Lyanna showed him how to grasp it best to belt it, then tightened it around his hips. It was a beautiful belt, black leather with evenly spaced silver pins alternating the Stark and Targaryen sigils. Dragonglass adorned the sword hilt, a great black rock of it gleaming in the firelight.

“Do you like it, sweet wolf?”

“I love it! Thank you, Mama!”

Jon leapt into her arms, raining kisses on her cheeks. His mother laughed and hugged him tight, then kissed his hair and set him on his feet.

“You be careful with it, and remember what I’ve taught you.”

“Stick them with the pointy end?”

“Don’t be cheeky. You never…?”

“Draw it unless you’re going to use it. I won’t, I promise.”

When Lyanna smiled at her son Dany understood what love meant. Her own mother gave her that same smile, and most times, Jon did, too. Rhaella watched the exchange as well, still looking worried, but Jon’s smile turned her resolve. He scurried over to her and kissed her cheek.

“I’ll be careful, Grandmother. You’ll see, someday I’ll be just as good as Ser Arthur and then you’ll never have to worry again!”

“You’re a sweet boy, Jon. Don’t ever lose that.”

Rhaella pushed his curls off his forehead and kissed his nose. Giggling, Jon moved to Dany next, offering a clumsy bow and almost knocking himself in the face with his sword pommel.

“Lady Dany, can I walk you to the feast?”

“Do I have to call you Ser Jon?”

Chivalrous knight didn’t quite suit her best friend. He made a face at the title.

“No, that’s silly.”

“Well, you’ll need to be a knight to best me, small wolf.” 

Ser Arthur had returned with Ser Barristan.

Dany squealed and ran right past Jon to the old knight. They both jumped at him, pulling at his arms and talking all at once. 

“Ser Barristan, Ser Barristan!”

He was an older knight than Ser Arthur. Gray hair covered his head with patches of white starting to spread. Ser Arthur was taller, but Ser Barristan more broad. Ser Barristan was their second sworn shield most of the time, but he traveled quite a bit to King’s Landing, too. Dany got a hug first, poking her tongue out at Jon as he pulled on the knight’s cloak.

“Look, look! Mama gave me a real sword!”

“I see that, my prince.” Ser Barristan admired the belt. “A very fine belt. How’s the steel?”

Jon moved to unsheath the dull blade, then stopped with his hand on the pommel. He glanced at his mother and then gave Ser Barristan a stern look.

“A good swordsman only pulls his sword if he’s going to use it.”

The old knight laughed out loud and patted Jon’s shoulder.

“Or sharpen and clean it,” he told Jon. “But your father is here now, and your brother and sister. Lessons in that can wait until the morrow.”

Frowning, Jon nodded. The two kingsguard knights escorted them down to the throne room where Viserys was already waiting. Her brother was a gawky boy of four-and-ten, anxious and temperamental. His silver-gold hair was braided like Rhaegar’s always was, but his face was too thin and weak-chinned to be handsome.

“You should have been down here  _ before _ me!” The pretend Lord of Dragonstone snarled at them from his seat on the throne carved into the black stone. Around him dragon heads had been twisted by old Valyrian magic, maws wide and angry. “I am the lord of this castle. I should not have to  _ wait _ for you. All of you should wait for me.”

“Viserys, that is  _ enough _ .” Rhaella took one look at his petulant glower and went right up to where he sat. “You will get off there right now, and come greet the king respectfully, or so help me, you’ll never rule a single castle this world has to offer.”

“You don’t tell me—”

Jon snorted as Rhaella caught Viserys by the ear and yanked him off the throne and down the steps. Dany watched him in silence. Her second brother was her least favorite person most days. When she was really small, he’d been kinder. Most mornings he used to sit and read with her, or tell her all about the dragon skulls in the throne room of the Red Keep she’d yet to see. Except when Jon was around. Viserys liked Jon about as much as a cat liked a bath.

“Fourteen or forty, I will always be your mother, Viserys Targaryen.” Rhaella pushed him along toward the double doors into the courtyard. “And if you behave like a child, whatever your age, I will treat you as one. Go!”

He scampered. Dany grinned as Viserys hurried ahead through the courtyard to the stairs that led to the gates. His rarely used longsword swung dangerously at his hip. Viserys loved to wear it constantly, but had never used it so far as Dany recalled.

“I don’t know what to do with that boy anymore,” Rhaella said as they all followed him through the castle.

Lyanna shook her head. “I’m sure Ser Arthur wouldn’t object to a few sparring rounds with him to purge the arrogance from him.”

Her mother sighed and took Dany’s little hand, lowering her voice. She and Lyanna did that alot when Dany and Jon were around, thinking they weren’t listening or couldn’t hear and understand. 

“Shaming him would only make him worse, I’m afraid,” her mother said quietly to Auntie Lyanna. “He’s always been quick to sense a slight, and a dragon’s temperament to go with the injured ego… Aerys was the same way.”

“Shame may do him good, if handled well. Ser Arthur could give him confidence instead of arrogance.”

When Rhaella still didn’t look convinced, Lyanna changed topics. Jon gave Dany one of his looks from where he was holding his mother’s hand. She didn’t need to hear his words to know they were in agreement.

_ Viserys would rather be worshipped than do work. _

Dany saw it every day. While Jon was in the training yard with Ser Arthur, learning and sweating and working until his little muscles shook, Viserys had to be dragged outside. As Dany sat on the balcony nearby and read her way through every history book she could carry, Viserys scoffed at Maester Cressen’s tasks and wisdom. He refused to spar, to learn or fight. Each time, he insisted he could beat everyone out there—then shied away from proving it.

He was the same in lessons, though they shared very few together with their age differences. Viserys wanted the world in his lap without any thought to personal achievement.

At the courtyard gates, rows of guards and the rest of the household were lined up to greet the king. Viserys was stalking around like an angry cat, snapping orders and insults. Rhaella gave him a long suffering look, then knelt down before Dany.

“You stand just here, sweetheart, and remember all your courtesies we’ve been practicing.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“That’s my girl.”

Her mother kissed her brow, then went to fetch Viserys back to his place in the front row alongside them. To her left, Lyanna was straightening Jon’s collar and sword, smoothing his messy curls back out of his face.

“He’s so excited to see you, Jon,” she was telling him. “Your father misses you so much when he’s in King’s Landing.”

Jon only nodded, his face expressionless. Dany knew he didn’t believe that anymore; he’d told her so when Rhaegar had come to Dragonstone for his birthday six moons past. Rhaegar might be great as her brother, but Jon was less than fond of him as a father. His visits were increasingly infrequent, and always very short. Jon wanted to show him all sorts of moves he was learning in the training yard, starry-eyed as he tried to impress his father. But her brother was a solemn sort of man. Quiet and bookish, he tried to work with Jon on his lessons, and never got anywhere.

“Jon, he tries,” Lyanna told him. “Being king… it’s no easy task, love.”

“He’d rather be there,” Jon told her, sullen. “So he doesn’t have to fight with us.”

“Jon…”

Across the courtyard, the gate was lifted as the king’s party arrived. Guards in resplendent armor of silver and black came first, followed by a whole retainer of servants. Dany gazed at each in wonder, all the new faces and clothes and the sigils, too, on some of the guards from lesser houses. Her favorite brother came next, on a bold white stallion, his golden crown sparkling in the afternoon sun. Rhaegar was how a king should always look, Dany was certain. Tall and regal and strong. He dismounted as the Dragonstone household took a knee. 

Dany hurried to follow as Jon scowled beside her.

King Rhaegar approached their mother first.

“Please, I’ve told you that you needn’t—”

“You are King, my son,” Rhaella reminded him, thanking him as he helped her back to her feet. “Respectful displays are important, even from your mother.”

Her brother didn’t argue as he gestured for the rest to rise. Dany did so with a big leap of excitement as Rhaegar greeted Viserys with a few words, then swooped down to hug her.

“There’s my best little sister. You’re going to be taller than me soon if you aren’t careful!”

Dany hugged him a second time, beaming so wide her face hurt. And then she saw them over her brother’s thin shoulder. Queen Elia was a beauty in golden orange, her crown more delicate than the king’s. She had two lanky children by their hands that Dany didn’t know on sight, but they could only be Princess Rhaenys and Crown Prince Aegon. Like Jon, they wore two sigils on their clothes, the Targaryen dragon and a sun with a spear.

Queen Elia approached with her children before Rhaegar could greet Jon and Lyanna.

“Elia, dear, you of course know my mother and Prince Viserys.” Rhaegar gestured to them as the two women hugged briefly. Then he turned to Dany, who stood up straight. “And this gem is my baby sister, Princess Daenerys.”

“Welcome to Dragonstone, Queen Elia,” Dany said, curtseying with only a slight wobble. 

Elia gave her a kind smile. “Curtseys took me  _ ages _ to master, but yours is beautiful. It’s very nice to meet you. This is Rhaenys and Aegon, your niece and nephew. Say hello, loves.”

Aegon muttered a shy hello, but Rhaenys bound forward like an eager puppy.

“Another girl,  _ finally! _ ”

And she scooped Dany up into a big hug that lifted her right off her feet. Rhaenys looked wiry, but she was tall and strong, with Elia’s dark eyes and skin and hair. Aegon kept close to their mother’s skirts, looking like a tiny, albeit tanned, reflection of Rhaegar.

“Easy, Rhaenys, Daenerys isn’t one of your dolls,” Elia scolded her gently. “Or Balerion, wherever that little terror has wandered off to now.”

“He’s fishing on the docks,” Aegon told them, ducking his face shyly. 

“Is that so?” Elia sighed and shook her head. “He really is the Black Dread come again.”

Rhaenys beamed, then whined as Rhaegar took her hand and led her down the line to Jon and Lyanna. Elia followed, nudging Aegon along, but her steps were slower, almost hesitant.

Jon’s face was impassive, giving almost nothing away, but Dany could see the hurt lurking in the depths of his eyes. That sad shine which always seemed to grow when Rhaegar came to Dragonstone.

“Rhaenys, Aegon, this is your half-brother, Jae—”

“I’m Jon,” he said loudly, cutting off the king without flinching. His name was a sore point neither would budge on. “Not that long one. Just Jon.”

Lyanna’s hand clenched his tiny shoulder as Dany watched the exchange. Rhaenys didn’t leap forward to greet him like she had with Dany. Both children hung back, uncertain. Then Elia swept her skirts up in her hands and dropped down to Jon’s eye level.

“It is very nice to meet you, Prince Jon,” she said, just as kind to Jon as she’d been to Dany. “I’ve heard you’re quite impressive with a sword.”

It was his name that made Jon smile at her. The immediacy of Queen Elia’s acceptance that he was Jon first and Jaehaerys last. He nodded and gave his dragonglass pommel a little shake.

“My mama gave me a  _ real _ sword just to meet you.”

“I see that, and quite a handsome sword it is.” Elia eased Rhaenys and Aegon forward by their hands. “I’m sure Rhaenys will love to spar with you while we visit. Maybe you can get Aegon to join in. He’d much rather have his nose in a big, heavy book.”

Jon made a face as Rhaegar frowned down at him. 

“Swords and bows are more fun,” he said.

“The mind needs training just as much, Jaehaerys.”

Jon stiffened at his father’s words. Lyanna gave Rhaegar a dark look, but it was Elia who spoke first.

“I believe your son has stated his desire to be called Jon, Your Grace.” An edge had entered Queen Elia’s voice that made Dany shiver. “A small thing to refuse.”

“He was born Jaehaerys and blessed as such under the Seven.”

“I like the old gods,” Jon told him, his long face pinched as his chin trembled. “They don’t care what name I go by as long as we keep the cold away.”

“Jaehaerys, what—”

“My name is JON!”

He stamped his foot and a few frustrated tears began to fall before Auntie Lyanna was there. She scooped Jon up and glared at Rhaegar.

“For the old and new gods’ sakes, let  _ my _ son have his name, Rhaegar. It’s the least you can do for him.”

Her brother started to argue, but Elia placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Somehow, that put an end to the matter. Dany didn’t understand it, no more than the chilly hellos Lyanna and Elia exchanged next, but Jon’s tears were her main focus. She stepped out of the line and went over to take his hand where it hung by Lyanna’s hip as she rocked him.

“He’s Jon,” Dany told the king. “He’s my bestest Jon, okay?”

Rhaegar sighed and shook his head. He said nothing else on the matter as the gathering began to dissolve. People bustled off to their different tasks before the welcoming feast. Dany watched Rhaegar’s horse as the stallion was whisked away by the master of horse. She was sad to see him go. Her own pony was half the size, and not half as pretty.

“Come on, dear.” Her mother took her hand and ushered her into the entrance hall of the Stone Drum. “We’ve got to freshen up and then it’s time for the feast.”

Jon stayed in Auntie Lyanna’s arms the entire walk back to their tower’s private solar. As soon as she set him in one of the high-backed armchairs, Dany went to cuddle with him. Their mothers bustled off to change their own clothes before helping them.

“He’s a big stupid,” Jon mumbled against her hair. He rubbed at his red eyes and then buried his face in her hair again. “I hate him.”

“He’s a good brother,” Dany reminded him. And Rhaegar was, for however else he failed. “And a king.”

“Kings shouldn’t be fathers,” Jon said.

“They’ve got to be both.” Dany gave him a big kiss on the cheek, and then an idea came to her. “I bet our mothers will take us to see the eggs before the feast. That’ll be nice.”

Going to the room that held the great Painted Table and the three stone eggs was one of their favorite things to do inside the castle. Dany loved to hold them, now that she was big enough. Jon liked them, too, though Rhaella and Lyanna were baffled by their attachment to bits of rock.

“Promise?”

“We’ll go see them.”

* * *

Dany’s hopes for a visit before the feast were dashed. Their mothers refused to take them so far across the castle before such a big event. Jon wasn’t pleased, and continued to pout and brood all evening. She did her best to get him to laugh and talk, but wasn’t that successful. Her king brother noticed. He was as solemn as ever, watching her and Jon eat. By the time the ale and wine were flowing generously, it was time for them to go.

“Come on, sweets,” Rhaella said, as a rowdy roar filtered across the hall from the lower tables. “Time for bed.”

Dany didn’t protest. She wasn’t big on feasts, for the few she’d attended. Everyone was loud and drunk and the air got too smoky inside. Jon took Auntie Lyanna’s hand and pulled her from the hall before they could even say goodnight to the king.

“Jon, that was rude.”

“I don’t want to!”

He stamped his foot and refused to go back inside. Lyanna looked ready to scold him, but Rhaella touched her arm and shook her head.

“There’s time enough for that later, dear. He’s busy anyway with Lord Velaryon.” Rhaella scooped her up. “How about we go see your favorite stone eggs before bed?”

“Please!”

Jon’s lips quirked up and he tugged at Lyanna’s skirts. “Please, Mama,  _ please! _ ”

“If you promise to be nicer to your father tomorrow,” Lyanna told him sternly, and Jon nodded reluctantly. “Okay, a  _ quick _ visit then.”

Dany and Jon led the way, following the familiar paths through the castle, then up up up the winding stairs to the Painted Table. It was colder in here. No fire lit the grate and every space for a window was instead a carved arch that led onto a dark balcony. In the middle sat the massive old table carved into Westeros’s likeness as Aegon and his sisterwives, Visenya and Rhaenys, had known it during their conquest. At the northern tip, where the Wall marked the table’s end, another table had been set up. Upon it sat a display of three great stone dragon eggs. They’d been a gift for her brother, King Rhaegar, on the occasion of Daenerys’s birth.

Jon hurried over to them, beaming as Dany gave the black and scarlet spiral patterned one a hug. He ran his hands over the green one almost as if he were petting a dog.

“They missed us,” Dany told him. She held the black and scarlet to her cheek, felt the faint warmth of what had once been inside. “Someday, they’ll hatch and be  _ real _ dragons.”

Jon nodded. “I hope so.”

Rhaella joined them. “They’re  _ stone _ eggs, Daenerys. Once they would have been dragons, but time petrified them and turned them to stone.”

Dany clutched her favorite egg closer and went to touch the third. It was cream and gold, but just as warm.

“They won’t always be.”

Rhaella and Lyanna exchange one of their looks—one that Dany knew meant they didn’t believe her. Even to herself, she couldn’t say how she knew, but she did. Someday, when they were ready, the stone eggs would hatch. Dragons would come back.

“Time for bed, that’s enough for tonight.”

Dany set her egg down, and Jon gave his favorite green one a quick kiss.

* * *

Back in Dany’s chambers, Rhaella stoked a big fire as she tucked Dany into bed. Everything was pleasant and warm. The noise of the feast was far off across the castle as her mother gave her several kisses. One for each cheek, another for her nose, and then a final kiss on her forehead. 

“Tomorrow, we’ll have breakfast with Queen Elia and Rhaenys and Aegon, how does that sound?” 

“And Jon, too?”

Her mother’s smile fell an inch. “Perhaps. I’ll ask Auntie Lyanna if he wants to come.”

“He will,” Dany said at once. “Jon loves me.”

“Yes, of course he does.” Her mother’s smile turned to a frown. “I bet Aegon will love it if you show him the library.”

“Okay.” Dany snuggled down under her blankets, watching her mother’s worried face. “Mama, why don’t Auntie Lyanna and the Queen like each other?”

Her mother stiffened. “What makes you say that?”

Dany tried to find the right words. “They were like icy people. Their eyes didn’t like each other.”

Rhaella patted her arm, but something in her expression grew sad that Dany couldn’t place. “You’re really growing up so fast, you know that, Daenerys?”

“I’ll be six soon. Like Jon.”

“You will,” Rhaella agreed. “Sweet dreams, dear. I love you.”

Sleep came quick, as it always did for Dany after a long day. At first she wandered Dragonstone, through sheets of rain and the ash and fiery plumes from Dragonmont. It was heat and chill and ashy darkness. Her legs were her own, then lanky and thin, then curving wider at her hips. When she looked upward, the world had changed. Dragonstone fell away, shrinking below her as her skin boiled. She blinked. Everything went pale. The air turned frigid, dotted with streaks of white—snow.

In her real life, Dany had never seen such beauty, but in dreams, it was always snowing. And Jon was near…

Somehow, she knew him. Just a speck on the pale ground, a gleam of flaming red and silver flashing around him. They were near impossible to see from so high up, but like the great Wall in the distance, the Others sparkled like ice. A jolt of fear shot through her heart. A dozen of them were after Jon. For whatever reason, they always went for him.

On either side of her, ebony rose and fell, rose and fell. Scarlet spines were like hot coals in her hands. Wind blurred her vision, her eyes streaming. Jon grew larger with every breath. Closer, closer, but surrounded, his sword swinging endlessly. His eyes found hers, his sword faltering—

Dany woke with her usual cry of dismay. Her face was warm with tears. Across her chambers, the fire in her grate was only glowing embers. She was crying when Jon’s small knock came a few minutes later. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes were red again.

“Your sword broke—”

“You fell—”

It was always the same. Near every night, they shared the same horrible dreams. Jon shut the door and climbed into her bed. Dany hugged him so tight he winced, but she didn’t let go. They fell asleep after a time, mumbling better visions and their favorite stories, hoping dreams would always remain dreams.


	2. RHAELLA I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaella joins the POV party and worries about the future. The king's children get to spend some time together. Viserys is a little shit, and Jon and Dany have another dream...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday updates? Tuesday updates. For as long as I can manage that. 
> 
> Anyway, here's Rhaella's first POV! It's quite a long one.
> 
> Enjoy!

Finding two children in her daughter’s bed in the morning was as common an occurrence as finding Daenerys’s room empty. She opened the heavy drapes that lined the balcony door, humming softly as she went. Jon and Dany were still asleep, curled up together in the vast bed. For the better part of a year, Rhaella and Lyanna had tried to break the habit their children had developed as toddlers. So far, they hadn’t managed it.

Dreams haunted their children. Terrible, cold, confusing nightmares that somehow plagued them both simultaneously. Having one another to hold helped, gave them peace and easier sleep. Rhaella kept hoping they would outgrow both the nightmares and the cuddling, but more and more she was sure that was only a fool’s wish. Even this young, the bond between her daughter and grandson was unmistakable. 

“It’s time to wake up, loves,” Rhaella said, giving Jon’s head a gentle kiss and then Dany’s. 

Neither of them stirred. She took a seat on the edge of the bed, and stroked her daughter’s soft hair. For a few minutes, Rhaella simply watched them sleep, heads together, arms flung around each other and across the pillows. Sweetness graced their friendship in profound ways. Rhaella hoped they never lost that. But she worried, too. It was impossible not to with all the babes she’d lost—with how Aerys had been and the blood in their veins. Viserys was already showing those signs. What would she do if Jon followed? 

_Jon is not Aerys. Nor Viserys._

Her younger son’s growing disgust and rage grew more alarming as he approached manhood. Viserys did not listen. He’d taken the loss of his father hard six years ago, and, to a lesser extent, Rhaegar’s continuous absence. With no male in his life, he’d succumbed to spite and vitriol, and a roaring dislike for the women in his life. Having an out of control prince nearing sixteen was a dangerous liability for their already precarious position.

And House Targaryen’s reign had never been in such a worrisome state. Not since the Dance that had near wiped them out. Each day and move and decision needed precision now. Every agreement had to be made for the betterment of their position to ensure their safety. And Rhaegar…

Her eldest was intelligent in a great number of ways, but politics had always been his shortcoming. Robert’s Uprising, the beforehand and aftermath, had convinced her of that.

The chamber door creaked open as Lyanna joined her.

“I thought I’d find my son here,” she said. She gave Jon a kiss on the nose. The boy scrunched up his face and twisted deeper into Daenerys’s embrace. “Oh, no, up you get, Jon. We’ve got all sorts of exciting things for you to do today.”

Before Rhaella could blink, the tickle war had begun. Jon was a giggling, shrieking delight as his mother roused him, tickling his ribs and toes until he was snuggled in her lap. Daenerys had woken, too, blinking slow and yawning.

“Mama, is morning?”

Rhaella scooped her up and peppered her face with kisses. “It sure is, my little dragon. And we have a big fun breakfast planned with our new guests.”

Lyanna stilled, her smile shrinking. It took a few seconds of stern self-control for Rhaella to not say everything she’d been thinking since yesterday.

 _For years_ , _truthfully_.

Her two good-daughters had seen each other only once before yesterday’s welcoming feast. It had been a brief encounter, and at a great distance, when Lord Stark had brought his sister to King’s Landing from where Rhaegar had hidden her in the Red Mountains of Dorne. Jon had been a tiny, dark-haired surprise for all of them. And Elia…

She’d had every right to be furious. But Rhaella hoped, with the passage of time, and their children meeting and bonding, the two could find a way to be amicable. To direct their displeasure at her son instead of one another. Her grandchildrens’ futures depended on it. Lyanna, at least, had already mastered disliking Rhaegar. In some ways, Rhaella understood her reasoning, but as a mother, she wished her son could have at least one happy marriage. Instead, he’d bumbled his way into having two shallow ones.

“Jon’s going to breakfast, too, isn’t he?”

Daenerys bounced in her lap, beaming and sweet and already learning when to charm.

“If it’s okay with his mother.”

“ _Please_ , Auntie Lya _!_ ”

“I want to go, Mama!”

Lyanna gave the pair a long look, her teeth tugging at her lip. She couldn’t stand to refuse Jon anything, but she distrusted the Martells with her son.

“I’ll be there the whole time,” Rhaella assured her. “And you’re welcome to come to our _civilized_ meal.”

“If Jon wants to go, then he may,” Lyanna decided, though her eyes were troubled nevertheless.

Jon agreed immediately, reaching for Dany’s hand as if it were instinct. And perhaps it was. They’d share nearly everything since they were infants. Cribs and blankets, meals and lessons, tears and laughter. For a few short weeks when Daenerys had been fresh from her womb, they’d both even fed at Lyanna’s breast. Rhaella had been too weak and sick; had almost lost her life by giving Daenerys hers. For that, her and Lyanna had truly become friends. Before then, they’d had an uncomfortable, awkward relationship when the new king had ordered them both to Dragonstone after his coronation. After everything that had transpired between herself and Aerys at the end, she’d needed the distance--and Lyanna had needed a companion as she truly became the king’s second wife.

“Well, let’s get you dressed and ready then.” Lyanna set Jon on his feet, then led him out.

Daenerys stayed snuggled in her lap, with no clear interest in leaving. Rhaella held her close and rocked her.

“What shall we wear today, Dany? Your brother brought you two new dresses,” Rhaella told her, stroking her hair. “One is a beautiful lilac I bet you’ll look lovely in.”

“What about gray, Mama?”

“Gray, dear?”

“Uh huh, like Jon’s eyes,” Dany explained, wiggling out of her arms and to the floor. “So they know it’s me and Jon always ‘cause we’re best friends.”

Rhaella took a moment to consider those words. Daenerys was entirely unconcerned by what she’d said. Her and Jon being together was a foregone conclusion to each of them. How could they not be, when they’d never known anyone else their own age?

“Let’s go pick out something,” Rhaella said, and she held out her hand until Daenerys’s tiny one grasped it.

Together, they headed into the dressing room to start their day.

* * *

Breakfast was a shy affair. Rhaella had never known Jon or Daenerys to be so quiet or solemn. Aegon, it seemed, was naturally tight-lipped and bashful, perhaps in part because Rhaenys never seemed to stop talking. Rhaella had seen nothing of him since she’d set sail for Dragonstone six years before. Her only granddaughter filled the unfamiliar gathering with tales of Dorne and her cat, Balerion, and of stealing her favorite figs and cakes from the kitchens while Ser Lewyn rushed after her.

After their morning feast, Rhaella followed her family into the training yard at the entrance to Aegon’s Garden. At once, Aegon wandered to the far corner with a book as big as he was. He found a shaded willow tree to sit under as he flipped his way through. He might have been her Rhaegar twenty years ago. Rhaella took a seat on one of the benches as Jon and Rhaenys padded up to spar under Ser Arthur’s watchful eye.

“He’s never shown any interest,” Elia said quietly. She took a seat on the bench beside Rhaella, but her eyes were focused on her son across the garden. “You can’t keep a sword out of Rhaenys’s hand, but Aegon…”

“Rhaegar was the same,” Rhaella assured her as Lyanna took a seat on the other side of the dragon fountain at the garden’s entrance, her gaze turned toward the training yard, and her posture so stiff that Rhaella half-expected her to shatter. “Until he came across that book of prophecies. If not for that, I’m sure he’d never have picked a sword up until one was melted into his hand.”

“Jon doesn’t seem to have inherited that trait.” Elia turned back to the yard as Rhaenys and Jon began following Ser Arthur’s guided warm-ups. “He seems… well suited for swordplay.”

Worry lingered in the soft lines of Elia’s face. She looked older than Rhaella remembered, as if a dozen years had passed instead of six. Yet, she was beautiful still, and just as thoughtful and sharp as Rhaella had known her to be.

“Most days we can’t get him to stop,” Rhaella admitted, “but there’s more to being a prince than waving a sword.”

“Yes,” Elia agreed, frowning. “Yet it’s war and steel that is judged and honored far more than wisdom.”

Rhaella said nothing else on the matter. Both her good-daughters had their misgivings of one another and their children and their families. Safety for their own children was their priority. But getting the two to see how simply those concerns could blend together—that letting Jon and Aegon and Rhaenys bond as true siblings could eliminate so many potential issues—was much more difficult.

Dany had flounced into the yard, her face clean from her messy breakfast. She gave Jon and Rhaenys an eye roll, and then spotted her oldest nephew under his shadowy tree.

“Mama, can I go read with Egg?”

“Of course, dear.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” Elia said, smiling as Dany settled down in a pile of lilac-gray skirts on the grass beside Aegon. “Rhaenys could learn a thing or two from her.”

“Got you!”

“ _Ouch_!”

They both turned sharply toward the yard. Rhaenys flourished her wooden sword and beamed down at Jon. He was on the ground, holding his cheek. A line of blood ran through his fingers. Elia’s face fell at once. Her eyes darted to Lyanna, who was watching her son closely. But Jon didn’t cry or scream. He wiped the blood on his padded sleeve as Ser Arthur hoisted him back to his feet.

“No hits to the face, Princess,” Ser Arthur reminded Rhaenys. “We’re here to learn, not win a melee. You okay, little wolf?”

Jon rubbed his cheek and scowled, but he nodded. “How’d you do that?” he asked, wiggling his little wooden sword in a clumsy twisting motion. “With your wrist and stuff?”

Elia let out a breath as Rhaenys began to show him what she’d done. Across the yard, Lyanna relaxed, too. Rhaella could only shake her head at the pair. They’d have to sit down at some point during this visit and talk. As three queens, and three mothers, and, more importantly, as three women stuck in a complicated situation.

The morning breezed by, Aegon and Dany under the drooping willow tree, flipping through page after page of his book. Rhaenys and Jon, however, were wild and loud. They switched to chasing each other around the training yard after an hour of real practice. By the time lunch arrived, they had tossed their padded armor aside and were playing make believe.

“I’m the Conqueror with my Black Dread Cat!” Rhaenys leapt around, flapping her little sword as Jon ducked and weaved, laughing. Balerion had joined the party, lounging on the warm stones, sunning himself. He mewed softly as Rhaenys went past.

“Then I’m the Young Dragon!”

Their wooden swords met playfully. _Clack clack clack._

“Makes sense,” Rhaenys told him, gazing down at her half-brother. “Since you're my baby brother.”

Jon’s face went red. “I’m _not_ a baby.”

“Are so!” 

“I’m _not!_ I’m six now!”

“But you’ve got to be the baby,” Rhaenys insisted. “Even when you’re bigger than me, you’ll be the _baby_.”

“I won’t!”

“Yes huh, ‘cause I’m nine and Egg is seven and you’re the youngest, so you’re my _baby_ brother.”

In the blink of an eye, the pair were tumbling around in the dusty yard, tugging and shoving and pulling at each other’s dark hair. Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn were there at once, hoisting their charges up and away from each other. Rhaenys stuck her tongue out at Jon, who was red in the face and trying not to cry in frustration. Both were covered in dirt and sporting a split lip.

From her seat on the bench, Rhaella watched Elia and Lyanna hurry over, both scolding their children as they went.

“Rhaenys Targaryen, a lady is never so rude—”

“ _Jon,_ you do not hit people for saying something you don’t like—”

Jon’s distress lasted for as long as it took for Dany to come over and take his hand. “Don’t be mean to Jon,” she told Rhaenys, and she looked quite stern as she spoke, straightening herself to her meager five-year-old height. Next to Rhaenys, she looked like a pale ant.

“I wasn’t,” Rhaenys muttered. “He’s my baby brother. That’s not _bad_.”

“Rhaenys, that’s enough,” Elia told her. “And enough time in the yard today, too, if behaving this way is what it’s teaching you.”

“But Mother—”

“No buts. Inside.”

Rhaenys scowled and whined and kicked at the ground as she was led into the castle, Elia hounding her heels. Jon was back on his own feet, rubbing at his eyes as Lyanna scolded him, too.

“You are not to hit your sister, Jon. Nor Aegon. Do you understand me?”

“But, Mama, I’m _six_. I’m not a baby no more!”

“You’re not a man grown yet either, gods help us,” Lyanna muttered. She took the cloth Ser Arthur offered, and cleaned Jon’s dirty, bloody face. “No more tears or fists. Problems are fixed with words. You’ll apologize to Rhaenys and her mother before dinner. Is that clear?”

He gave a glum nod as Dany swung their joined hands. Lyanna hurried inside, to what end Rhaella could only guess. Across the attached garden, Aegon was still seated under his willow tree, ever watchful. Rhaella headed over to him, smiling at his shyness now that his mother and sister had disappeared inside. Ser Lewyn, however, was still close at hand.

“That’s an awfully big book,” Rhaella said to him, smiling as he bashfully ducked his face behind it’s yellowed pages. “What are you reading, my little grandson?”

“About dragons,” he mumbled, peering up at her with big indigo eyes. “I like dragons.”

“It’s a wonderingful book, Mama!” Dany had returned to the tree, Jon at her side.

It was that moment that worried Rhaella more than all the rest. Her two grandsons coming together for the first time, without their mothers or Rhaenys around as a distraction, was significant. An instance that could define how their lives evolved. And she knew the boys were so very different already. Every week she received letters from Elia about Rhaenys and Aegon, of how they were growing, their triumphs and fights and fears. And every day she watched Jon grow a little taller and a little stronger, not yet understanding the world that awaited him outside of Dragonstone’s fortress. Of the reality already in place to drive a wedge between him and the rest of the family.

Having little experience with children his own age besides Daenerys didn’t help either.

“Wonderful,” Aegon said as Dany dropped down beside him once more. He eyed Jon warily. “Wonderingful isn’t a word.”

“Dany will make it one someday, if she wants,” Jon said. He remained on his feet, considering his brother. “What’re you reading?”

“About dragons,” Aegon repeated, eyeing the cut on Jon’s cheek from his sister, his split lip, and the knees of his trousers that had been rubbed to threads from rough play. “Rhaenys likes swords more than books. She shouldn’t have hit you, though.”

For a long moment, Jon’s face was unreadable. More and more, the features he’d inherited from his mother closed off around others. Even to Rhaella, he was hard to read sometimes. So much understanding went on behind those dark eyes, probably far more than ought to so young. 

“It’s okay. Sometimes I trip and the ground hits me instead. That’s how I lost lots of teeth.” Jon smiled to show all the empty spots. “Dragons are the best,” he said, and he took a seat on Aegon’s other side. “We’ve got three eggs in the big tower. You can have the other one probably, if Dany says so.”

And it was that simple sd Rhaella retook her seat on the bench between the yard and the garden. She watched the three nestled under the willow tree as lunch was served on a long table the servants carried out to them. They were still oblivious to what the future might mean, to the ways Westeros would attempt to separate them or pit them against one another. Even to the distrust between their mothers. Yet she had hope, too, as she watched them laugh and talk and point at the drawings of dragons long dead.

As Aegon turned to the middle of the book, grinning for the first time since his arrival, Jon and Dany wiggled closer to see the pages, their heads on Aegon’s shoulders as he began to read aloud.

_“Dragons were fire made flesh, stronger than any metal or stone…”_

* * *

Dinner painted a stark contrast to their quiet breakfast. Instead of another feast, the Targaryen family dined together in the lord’s solar. They were Rhaegar’s chambers whenever he visited, though one day, they would be Aegon’s. As the king’s heir, Aegon was Dragonstone’s Prince and future lord, despite growing up in King’s Landing thus far. It was another blunder on Rhaegar’s part, but keeping his heir and first wife at his side had seemed smarter than keeping his second son and wife with him in the capitol.

Nobody had truly been happy with the king’s political stumblings. But Dorne had been sated in the end, and that had been their biggest concern six years prior. The North, the Vale, and the Riverlands had been easier to subdue, if for no other reason than that they’d taken up arms against the crown. Amends had been made, overall. Lord Arryn was named Hand of the King. Lord Stark was uncle to a prince and left with his wife and new son to rule the North. Lord Tully was allowed to live in peace and given extra supplies to aid the damage to lands and castles harmed in the battles. And Lyanna, second wife and technically a queen was, in many ways, an unannounced hostage to keep them in line. 

Only Lord Tywin had truly been left empty-handed--still no prince for his daughter to marry as Aerys had once promised, but young Lord Stannis Baratheon instead. His heir had been stolen by King Aerys to serve as a brother of the White Swords, then sent to the Wall for killing his king. If not for the Lannister army deciding so late to join the crown’s side, Rhaella was sure they’d have another war on their hands with the west.

_And still might. Lord Tywin is more emotional than myself by half, and has not forgotten the snubs and slights._

To start their meal, Jon arrived in his Targaryen reds and blacks, a little silver circlet on his curls. It was a far simpler crown than his half-siblings—a wise choice on Lyanna’s part with her and Elia still on pins and needles around each other. Jon at once approached Elia and Rhaenys, so solemn someone might have died.

“I’m sorry I hit you earlier in the training yard,” he told his sister. Then he raised his eyes to Elia and gave one of his best bows yet. “I ask for your forgiveness, too, Queen Elia.”

Rhaella had never been so proud of his manners. He was a model prince in the making. At least for a moment. Jon would still be his wild little self on the morrow, but for that instance, she was warmed by his maturity.

Elia offered him a sweet smile as thunder grumbled across the island. “My forgiveness is yours, so long as you can forgive Rhaenys for her rude words. Rhaenys?”

She had to nudge her daughter in the back to get her to look at Jon. They had matching split lips. That seemed to please Rhaenys, for she gave him a toothless grin that Jon returned.

“We’ve got twin lips, Jon.” She poked at hers and giggled when he did the same. “I won’t call you a baby anymore,” she told him, “even though I like that you’re my baby brother. Brothers are fun since I’m the biggest.”

The king arrived then, and while the food was exquisite, the general mood declined more sharply than a mountainside in the Eyrie. Outside, the sky darkened as the usual evening storms rolled in. The balcony doors were pulled shut as the first raindrops began to fall. Jon’s mood soured, and Lyanna’s followed suit though she was less inclined to show it. Elia, too, was suddenly false smiles and airy conversation that seemed purposeful, but led them nowhere—and deflected away from the children’s fight earlier. Somehow, Rhaella knew Rhaegar hadn’t been told by either wife, and she was sure that was for the best. 

Rhaella tried to focus on her grandchildren and daughter, seated around her at the end opposite Rhaegar. Viserys had taken the seat at Rhaegar left-hand side between Lyanna and the king. Beside Rhaegar, he looked far too thin and sickly.

“Can we show them the eggs tonight, Mama?” Dany had asked a dozen times since their first course had ended, and was undeterred by Rhaella’s deflections. “Please, Eggie and Rhae need to meet them, too.”

“It’s important,” Jon chimed in, though when Rhaella asked, neither of them could elaborate.

“They’re stone eggs,” Rhaegar’s stern voice called down to them. He’d finally turned away from speaking with Viserys, and had come to focus on the youngest. “Time turned them to stone, and so they’ll remain that way.”

Jon didn’t seem keen to argue, but Daenerys surprised them all with her sudden outrage.

“They won’t! We’re gonna have dragons again!”

“Daenerys,” Rhaella scolded, but there was nothing for it. Her daughter’s face was turning red, and before she could do more, Viserys had jumped in.

“They’re stone, you idiot. Dragons are dead just like your brains.”

Only Elia and her children stayed quiet. Rhaegar reprimanded Viserys’s smug face, and Jon had to be restrained by his mother from leaping up onto the table. It wasn’t the first time Jon had done so.

_Nor will it be the last time he hits Viserys in his foul little mouth._

Rhaella stood, flinging her napkin down so hard it cracked like a slap when it hit her plate.

“Viserys, you will not speak like that to your sister.”

“You can’t tell me—”

When she caught him by the ear, he yelped and whined. “On your feet, right now. Rhaegar, take him.”

Her eldest was glaring daggers at his younger brother, who was still protesting his ear being twisted.

“Viserys, come.” The king took him by the arm and pulled. 

“She’s just a stupid—”

“Our sister is not the stupid one of the three of us,” Rhaegar snapped. With Ser Arthur’s assistance, they hauled Viserys out of the room.

As soon as he was gone, Rhaella pulled Dany into her arms. She was trying not to cry, but her bottom lip was trembling as she buried her face in Rhaella’s shoulder.

“He’s a bully!” Jon was shouting. In the sudden hush, his words were crystal clear. “I hate—”

“Jon, that’s enough.” Lyanna forced him back into his seat and turned his chair to face her.

Rhaella didn’t hear the rest of their conversation, not with Dany sniffling in her ear.

“You aren’t stupid, my little dragon,” Rhaella told her, rocking her slowly in her arms. “You are wonderful and kind and so very smart. Viserys… your brother needs a firmer hand in his life. Don’t you listen to him, Daenerys.”

_And he’ll have it soon enough._

Neither she nor Rhaegar had told Viserys of their plans for him yet, but when Rhaegar departed for King’s Landing, Viserys would be going with him. For a fortnight, he would linger in the capitol before journeying on to Casterly Rock to foster under Lord Tywin Lannister. Rhaella didn’t entirely approve the idea, knowing Tywin as she did, but with what Viserys was becoming…

_He needs a firm hand in his life. One whom he will fear._

And Lord Tywin needed to be placated, at least slightly, until a better offer could be made. Tywin’s fury had not been quelled, only hidden. A new betrothal was needed, if only they could convince Rhaegar of the right one.

“My dragons aren’t all stone, Mama,” Dany mumbled, crying quietly into Rhaella’s shoulder. She trembled a little and Rhaella held her tighter. “Someday… one day, they’ll… me and Jon are gonna… they’ll be big dragons, too.”

“Of course, dear, don’t you fret.” 

She met Lyanna’s eyes as Dany began to settle in her arms. They’d both heard it all before. The certainty with which Daenerys spoke of those stone eggs hatching had baffled them at first, but with each consecutive year, Rhaella wondered more and more if her daughter was seeing something they’d all missed. Jon believed her whole-heartedly. And those dreams they shared…

They were illogical and beyond her explanation. Everytime the pair spoke of them, Rhaella was brought back to her own childhood. Not of similar dreams, no, but of lessons with her septa and the maester about Daenys the Dreamer, who’s visions had saved their very line so they might live now.

“I thought they were stone?” Aegon whispered to Elia. 

His mother shushed him, eyes on Jon and Dany, calculating. Hiding their bond would have been an impossible task, one Rhaella had no interest in attempting. Lyanna, too, hadn’t wanted that. If Rhaegar intended to pursue his plans for Aegon’s future as he’d tentatively laid out, he would have a fight ahead of him.

 _From all of us, perhaps._ _Elia loves her children as fiercely as Lyanna and myself._

The very thought of forcing Daenerys to marry Aegon against her will—to watch her daughter live a murky mirror of her own life was unbearable. To know that same marriage could spell the end of their house once and for all was almost as terrible.

“Come along, dears,” Elia said, pushing her chair back and taking Aegon and Rhaenys by their hands. “It’s time for bed.”

“Can we have a story?” Rhaenys asked as the trio made for the door, Ser Lewyn shadowing them. “Oh, the one about Queen Nymeria, Mother, oh, _please!_ ”

“That’s a good one,” Aegon agreed. He turned back to them and offered a small wave. “Bye, brother Jon!”

“And Dany,” Rhaenys snapped at him. She twisted around, tangling herself in her mother’s skirts. “Goodnight Dany!”

Settling Daenerys in for the night was easy once the tears had faded. Rhaella tucked her in tight, kissed her on both cheeks and her soft forehead. When she went to check-in on Jon and Lyanna, it was clear he’d put up a fight by the way his dinner clothes were tossed around the room.

“He wanted to go to Dany’s chambers,” Lyanna said, picking up his garment mess. Jon was asleep at least, already drooling on his pillow. “But with Rhaegar here…”

The king wouldn’t approve. Rhaella had never mentioned the strange dreams or the bed-sharing habit to her eldest. Naively perhaps, she’d been hoping they would outgrow it on their own. His visits were so infrequent and short, he hadn’t noticed yet. Before long, however, such a thing would be frowned upon. A young man and a young woman, unwed and not betrothed, sharing a bed, however innocently, would not do. Especially not when it was the king’s baby sister and his younger son.

“It’s best kept from him for now,” Rhaella said. “Until we can convince them to stop.”

“If we can.” Lyanna frowned down at Jon. “But the terror in their eyes when they wake… I couldn’t bear to keep them from one another when they’re like that.”

“Nor I.”

But the talk would never end in another year or two. For surely, Rhaegar was also here to discuss the next stages of Jon’s and Daenerys’s lives. Part of all the Targaryens coming together was them moving forward as one. Soon, it would be time for her to return to King’s Landing. For Daenerys to learn from a septa daily, to go to court and learn the political nightmare that awaited her there. And Jon…

_What are your plans for my grandson? To leave him here? To send him to Winterfell? To continue to hide him from the harsh views of your lords and ladies?_

They never spoke of it, but Jon’s birth, his status as a prince, was constantly, silently, questioned by the south. A son by another woman. A marriage officiated before the old gods and not the Faith, though they’d agreed to grant Rhaegar their support for the union amongst other concessions. But a wife who had arrived in King’s Landing with a newborn, and been shipped off to Dragonstone nought a week later, didn’t play much better than if Lyanna had been kept in King’s Landing to raise Jon before the court.

Dorne’s fiery threats had played a large part in the decision. But Rhaella had seen the shame and humiliation in her son’s eyes—the confusion when his long-loved prophecy had been dashed by a second son instead of another daughter.

“How does tea sound?”

Lyanna nodded as they stepped into the corridor and shut Jon’s door behind them. Much to their surprise, Elia was waiting for them.

“I hoped we might have tea,” Elia said politely. “Or wine, perhaps. I have no preference between the two.”

“That sounds lovely,” Lyanna said, but her smile had turned quite forced.

They retired to the sitting room at the end of the corridor, a servant bringing trays of tea and wine and sweet cakes. Both Elia and Lyanna focused on their drinks, taking far too long to prepare their cups while Rhaella drank half her own.

Then she waited, allowing her good-daughters the chance to start, but they were both as nervous as a horse faced with a dragon. After several minutes, Rhaella grew tired of waiting.

“We need to discuss—”

Someone knocked on the door. A second later, Ser Arthur stepped inside, his head bowed.

“Forgive me, my queens, but Princess Daenerys and Prince Jon—”

Rhaella stood, already aware of where that sentence went. “Another nightmare.”

“Yes, my queen. And His Grace, he…” The kingsguard hesitated as he held the door open for them. “He caught Jon going into Daenerys’s chambers to make sure she was okay. Since he’s unaware of—”

“Say no more.” 

Lyanna took off running. Elia set her cup down and joined Rhaella at a brisk walk toward the next corridor.

“Nightmares are a frequent occurrence for Daenerys?”

“For both of them, I’m afraid,” Rhaella said, as Lyanna disappeared into the alcove where Jon’s bedchamber door was hidden. At once, she could hear Jon’s angry, tearful shouts. “It’s difficult to explain. Perhaps, once we settle them, Lyanna and I can.”

But there was no settling either Jon or Daenerys. They were both terrified and desperate to see one another, Rhaegar the sudden wall between them. Ser Barristan stood guard outside Daenerys’s locked door, looking very uncomfortable as she cried for Jon and Rhaella from inside. As soon as he saw Rhaella, his expression turned to relief.

“Queen Rhaella, she’s had a terrible nightmare.”

“I know. Let me through.”

Dany dove into her arms at once, shaking and crying and blubbering words Rhaella couldn’t understand. But she did hear one name, repeated over and over like a mantra.

“I know you want to see Jon, sweetheart, but he’s with Rhaegar right now.”

That did nothing to soothe Dany. On the contrary, she pulled away from Rhaella and stamped her feet.

“He’s hurt—the ice sword and the—Mama, Jon’s _hurt_!”

“Jon is fine, love.”

“No! I gotta—I need to—I want my Jon!”

Nothing calmed her. Rhaella’s chest ached with every wail and cry and desperate attempt at the bedchamber door. She finally got a hold of Daenerys, intent on taking her down the corridor to Jon’s room so she could see him for herself, when there was a knock at the door. Relief swept through her—and then right out the window.

It wasn’t Lyanna with Jon, or even Jon by himself. Rhaegar’s lean silhouette was framed in the doorway, his crown glinting in the fading firelight. One look at his face and the red mark on his cheek, and Rhaella knew he’d fared no better with Jon.

“Mother, a word.”

“Now is hardly the time,” she snapped as Dany broke free of her embrace and tried for the door again. Rhaegar caught her and held her back.

“Daenerys, it was a nightmare. Nothing real. Jaehaerys is fine. Go back to bed.”

“No! I want to see—”

“You will not. Nor will he be sneaking into your chambers anymore,” Rhaegar told her, and Rhaella had never seen him so angry. “Whatever this habit is, it ends tonight. To bed. _Now_.”

Dany tried with all her might to get past him and failed. She flung herself back onto her bed, sobbing, her face and eyes red. It took all of Rhaella’s self-control not to slap her king.

“In the hall, Mother.”

When the door snapped shut, she could still hear Dany’s distressed sobs. Elia stood awkwardly in the corridor, unsure of what to do. 

“Rhaegar, this is absurd. We can discuss this further when we’ve calmed your son and sister.”

“We discuss it now. How could you keep this… this danger quiet from me? Jon sneaking into her chambers? And Lyanna says she does the same to him! Do you know what would be said of them if the realm were to learn of this?”

“What they’d say of you, you mean?” She glared at him and turned back toward Daenerys’s door. Her years of fearing a man in a crown had long since past. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“No. I am your king. This ends tonight. I’ve already had words with Jaehaerys on this matter,” and Rhaegar looked still more furious, his hand going to his red cheek. It was a small mark, one Rhaella had no doubt had been made by Jon’s fist. “I won’t condone this, no matter their nightmares or crying. You do them no kindness prolonging their whims, Mother.”

“And you do them no kindness by _traumatizing them._ Listen to your sister in there!”

For a moment, Rhaegar had the decency to look ashamed, but he recovered quickly. “This bed-sharing ends tonight, Mother. That is an order. I’ve already told Lyanna—”

“No, no, no!”

Jon darted out of his bedchamber door and into the corridor, just as red-eyed and scared as Daenerys. He made it two feet before Ser Arthur caught him. The kingsguard looked beside himself. Never before had he been forced to hold Jon back like he was now. But a king’s orders were not to be ignored. Ser Arthur was a great many things, but he held to his oaths more than what was right and true. Rhaella’s eyes burned as Jon was dragged back into his chamber, screaming and kicking and writhing with all his strength to get loose. Lyanna was ushered out by Ser Arthur, who shut the door on Jon’s yells.

“You’ve been so many good things before, and, yes, some bad, too,” Rhaella told her son. “But never so cruel. They’re _children_. Scared children who don’t understand—”

“Then you should have been teaching them, not coddling them,” Rhaegar said. “All of you, back to your chambers. They… they’ll calm down given time.”

From both chambers, another round of inconsolable sobbing reached their ears. Lyanna marched right across the corridor to them and slapped Rhaegar hard. He stumbled back a step, and while Ser Lewyn, Ser Arthur, and Ser Barristan moved toward him, not one of them restrained Lyanna.

“After all you’ve done—how little you see him, and you—you—”

Rhaegar twisted upright, clutching his face. “Ser Arthur, escort my mother and wives back to their chambers for the night. They aren’t to leave their rooms until morning.”

Arthur gave a short nod, though his face said he’d much rather not. Still, he took Rhaella gently by her upper arm and Lyanna by hers and led them back down the corridor to their cold tea and wine.

Elia was seated inside. When they were shut in, she stood and pulled Rhaella into her arms.

“She’ll be fine, they both will.”

“It could all be solved if they could see one another for a few minutes,” Lyanna snapped. She began to pace. Outside, thunder grumbled so deep it shook the castle. Rain splattered the windows. “The look on Jon’s face…”

She sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands.

“It’s cruel,” Elia said. “If I thought I could convince him, otherwise, I would, but Rhaegar… he’s stubborn in his beliefs.”

“And making matters worse,” Rhaella said as they broke their embrace. She took over Lyanna’s pacing. “They’re too young to understand. And their nightmares…”

Elia took a seat beside Lyanna, frowning. “The way it sounded was as if they shared their dreams.”

When neither Lyanna nor Rhaella corrected her, Elia’s mouth fell open slightly. “Surely, they’re just telling one another of their dreams. Repeating those stories back when asked—”

“They aren’t.” Lyanna uncovered her face and dabbed at her eyes with her sleeves. “When they first started, they were small. Still sharing rooms with us. Lying wasn’t a thought in their heads then. We even asked them to tell each of us right after they woke, before they ever saw one another. Their dreams were always the same. Right down to the smallest, strangest details.”

“Not that they make sense most times,” Rhaella added. “Even now, it’s hard to understand what they’re trying to tell us—or avoid telling us. But, one of them always ends up hurt, in the dream. It’s what wakes them to this.”

Elia didn’t continue to question them further. Her eldest good-daughter only nodded, looking thoughtful.

“Aegon has strange dreams sometimes, and Rhaenys. It’s the dragon blood in them, but they’ve never shared dreams.”

“I don’t know that anyone—”

For the third time that night, Rhaella were interrupted by someone knocking. Only this time, Ser Arthur didn’t wait for them to answer. He burst into the room, violet eyes frantically searching around the space.

“Where is he? Did he sneak in here?”

“Who—”

“Jon’s not in his chambers.”

“What?”

“Where is my son?” Lyanna’s hysteria returned like never before. She took Arthur by his belt and jerked him around. “What did he do to my Jon?”

“My queen, he went down the balcony—”

“The _balcony?_ ”

Lyanna shoved her way past him and Rhaegar, too. 

“Jon? Jon!”

Jon’s chambers were cold, the fire blown out by the wind gusting in through the open balcony doors. Rain drenched the stone, and his bed had been hastily stripped of blankets. Glass littered the floor beside the open balcony doors. One of the door’s panels had shattered. Rhaella turned to Ser Arthur for an explanation as Lyanna ran out into the pouring rain, screaming her son’s name.

“He finally quieted,” Ser Arthur told her. “I was guarding his door. Then I heard the balcony door slam against the wall. The wind must have caught it. He was already gone.”

Lyanna reappeared, soaked through and sobbing. When Rhaegar went to her, she nearly collapsed, until she saw his face.

“You did this! You locked him in here alone!”

She hit him hard, pummeling his arms and chest and any bit of him that she could reach. Rhaegar simply let her, his gaze locked on the balcony and the blankets that had been tied together like a long, strange rope. Rhaella’s heart hammered against her ribs. Her feet carried her outside into the downpour. Rain splattered her face, nearly blinded her as the wind howled its way through the castle towers. It bellowed like a dragon’s roar, but Jon was nowhere in sight. The balcony was empty save the rope made of blankets, and down below…

She couldn’t bear to look over the edge. To see what surely was a haunting nightmare on the rocks.

Not Jon. Not her sweet little grandson. Surely, he wouldn’t be so foolish, to try to scale the tower’s balconies in one of Dragonstone’s notorious storms. 

_He would do anything for Daenerys..._

She turned on the spot, rushing back inside, trying not to panic and lose her head. Elia stood in the doorway, staring in horror at the open balcony. Lightning flashed like a volcanic eruption.

“We have all the guards searching for him,” Rhaegar said, his voice hollow. His eyes were fixed on the empty balcony, the drenched blanket-rope tied to one of the gargoyles and disappearing down, down out of sight. “T-they’ll find him, Lyanna.”

Those words broke Rhaella. She stumbled as her knees began to shake. 

What would Jon be once he was found? A tiny boy dashed on the rocks far below, cold and lifeless and lost to them. Lost to Daenerys, after she’d promised he was just down the hall.

_Gods, Daenerys. How can I ever tell you this?_

“Your Grace? Your Grace!”

Ser Barristan burst into the room, his gray-white hair plastered to his face, rivets of water running down his armor, but he was smiling. 

“Your Grace, he made it inside. One of the guards found wet footprints all down the corridor on the floor below. They started at the balcony where the blankets reached.”

“Jon? Where is he? Take me to my son!” Lyanna pushed Rhaegar aside and went to Ser Barristan.

Some of the shock left Rhaella, her nerves trembling through her. Even as Ser Barristan spoke, she already knew exactly where Jon had ended up if he’d made it back inside the tower.

“They’re still searching for him, Lady Lyanna, but we’ll find him.”

“No need,” Rhaella said, and though her voice shook, she stood without falling. “He’s gone to Daenerys’s chambers.”

“He can’t have,” Ser Barristan said. “I’ve been at her door since it was locked. There’s two other guards outside in my absence.”

But she didn’t care to hear any assumptions or excuses. Rhaella took Lyanna’s hand and together they hurried to Dany’s door. The guards stepped aside, and the sight that greeted them inside was the best vision she’d ever seen. Jon and Dany were cuddled up before the fire, half her bedding on the floor with them, while Jon’s soggy nightshirt hung over one of the chairs to drip-dry. 

Lyanna gave a cry of relief and ran to him.

“Oh, Jon, oh my sweet boy, you’re safe. You’re here. _Jon_.”

He gave a wail of protest at being woken and hugged to her breast. Rhaella watched him get smothered with kisses and tears before she did the same with Daenerys. Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur went to check the balcony, opening the doors just enough to step outside. When they came back in, they were both shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Lucky he didn’t break his neck.”

“Or his entire body,” Ser Barristan said as he shut the door. “He used the blankets again, Your Grace. Must have gone down a floor from his chambers, snuck up to the floor above us, and then down to Daenerys’s balcony.”

Rhaegar didn’t seem capable of speech. He stared at his second wife and son, and finally, he dropped to his knees next to them and pulled Jon into his arms.

“You’re never to do that again, Jon, promise me. Don’t ever scare us like that.”

It was the first time Rhaella had ever heard him use Jon’s name. Her son cleared his throat, but his eyes were full of tears. Despite the horrid circumstances, Rhaella was glad to see it. For her kingly son to be forced a step back, for just a moment, from the crown that had taken over so much of his life.

Jon squirmed and resisted Rhaegar’s embrace, finally freeing himself as one of the guards arrived with fresh clothes for him. He was stuffed into his new nightshirt, but before Lyanna could scoop him up and cradle him once more, Jon was back in Daenerys’s arms. They buried themselves in all the blankets and pillows pulled from the bed, their little hands laced together.

“This isn’t—”

“Leave them be, Rhaegar.” Elia placed a firm hand on his shoulder and turned him away from the children. “He can hardly return to his chambers given their current state.”

Rhaella nodded her thanks to Elia’s hidden words.

_Tonight has been enough trouble, Rhaegar. Don’t repeat it._

Still, Lyanna lingered on the floor beside Jon and Daenerys as they curled up and drifted to sleep. It took Rhaella’s nudging to get her to leave.

“He’s fine, Lyanna,” she told her. “Not a scratch on him besides that silly split lip. He’s safe here with Daenerys.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I just—” She hiccuped as Rhaella led her back into the hall. “I lost him, for only a few moments.”

“A strong drink, I think.” Rhaella cast her son a glance. “We’ll retire for the evening now, Your Grace, if there’s nothing further?”

He looked properly ashamed as he bid them goodnight. Rhaella led Lyanna back down the hall, her young good-daughter hiccuping and trembling with every step. Elia gave her a quick nod and left without a word. 

Once they were alone, Rhaella poured Lyanna a full glass of wine and made her drink. She poured herself one, too, her hands shaking in the aftermath. The idea of losing Jon—of losing any of them—made her stomach twist and churn, her knees weak, her head swim. But for Lyanna…

Jon was all she had.

Her brothers were in the North, her father and eldest brother dead by Aerys’s orders, and Rhaegar…

Rhaella hated to speak ill of her son, her king, but he’d never made more of an ass of himself than he had with his fiasco around Lyanna. And perhaps he’d loved her in some simple way. But Rhaella would be a fool not to see the truth that wove through that bizarre, terrible year. He’d kept Rickard and Brandon’s fates from Lyanna and then taken up arms for the man who had killed them. Her brother, Lord Eddard, had told her everything when he’d arrived at her bedside after the Trident.

“He’s fine, I know it. I do.” 

Lyanna waved away a second glass and tried to master herself. Her eyes were still red-rimmed, her nose running. For a moment, she was the scared, hurt, angry young woman that had set sail to Dragonstone with Rhaella and baby Jon six years ago. Even now, she was only one-and-twenty.

“Jon’s a strong boy, and smart, too. We should not have doubted him.”

“We should not have allowed our king to leave him alone. He’s as reckless as I’ve ever been.”

“And he’s alive nevertheless. Perhaps, we should get him a mountain goat. I think they’d have much in common.”

It was a mark of how terrified Jon’s adventures had made her that Lyanna could only manage a thin smile.

“Nothing will hurt him while we’re here,” Rhaella said, hoping she could make that so. “Not even Rhaegar’s stupidity. He won’t intervene again.”

Of that much, Rhaella was sure. After seeing the lengths Jon went to just to see Daenerys, Rhaegar would not step between them in the aftershocks of their nightmares.

_But that won’t stop him from placing a more permanent distance between them._

She had no doubts in that regard. Even before tonight, reality was prickling in around them. Jon was six. Old enough to explore the world now that enough years had passed since Robert’s Uprising. Rhaegar wouldn’t wait much longer to send Jon elsewhere, to have his son travel the realm to reinforce his titles as a prince, or to rebuild some of the shaky trust since the war. Tonight, more than anything else, would accelerate that goodbye.

Their time together on Dragonstone was almost up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next will be Lyanna! 
> 
> Probably next Tuesday as well, but we'll see how the writing goes. After her it will either be Elia or Jon. Leaning towards Jon, I think. We'll see.
> 
> Thanks for all the great feedback on the first chapter, too! I was seriously overwhelmed by all the comments, but they're very appreciated!
> 
> Until next time, stay safe!


	3. LYANNA I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cold winds billow between Elia and Lyanna. The kids continue to adore each other as they ought to do. And a plan is hatched to make the future...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna's turn to have her say on this hot and humid Tuesday.
> 
> Enjoy!

Despite Rhaella’s assurances, Lyanna bypassed her own bedchambers and went directly to Daenerys’s rooms after they said goodnight. Ser Barristan let her in without a word. Jon and Dany were asleep, no more fretting or terror or tears. Lyanna pulled an armchair toward them beside the dwindling fire. She stoked it quietly, embers sparking and scattering in the air, the red-gold light casting shadows across Jon’s youthful face.

_ He’s fine. He’s safe _ .

But how false might that be with Elia and her children entering their lives? With the unavoidable soon upon them?

How could she trust the world with her son?

Elia was hardly some delicate flower; not naive nor foolish nor unaware of the danger a second son of another’s blood posed to Aegon. Perhaps she was vindictive enough to allow Jon to find his way into harm or worse. If Lyanna was forced from his side, what might happen to Jon then? How could she trust Elia, knowing her own son was considered nothing but a threat to Aegon?

And surely, Rhaegar’s visit wasn’t simply to whisk Viserys out of their lives. It was past time that the rest of them were moved about, pieces sliding across a cyvasse board for the king and crown’s benefit. 

They’d been confined to Dragonstone for six years now. Six long years, she’d been kept from the North; from her brothers, her nephew and niece, from the wolfswood and everything she’d ever known. Her wonderful adventure with the handsome prince had been little more than a journey into the dark and deep. At the time, her eyes had been stars, too dazzling to see the abyss cocooning around her—that her believed beginning was simply an end she couldn’t recognize.

If not for Jon, Lyanna didn’t like to think where she’d be now.

She reached down and stroked his soft curls, smiling as he shifted in his sleep.

Motherhood had not been an easy change. She’d been a wreck those first few months, grieving a brother and father, a love she’d lost and half-imagined, a newborn babe who cried endlessly when she held him. Rhaella had been there to teach her, to show her it was her own turmoil upsetting Jon; that being a mother was far more than blood and birth. 

Jon was her entire world. How could he not be after all they’d been through?

And Rhaegar would take Jon from her soon. He’d kept countless truths from her all those months in the Red Mountains—her father and brother’s murders, the war raging partially in her name, his decision to fight in his father’s name on the Trident. While Rhaegar claimed King’s Landing, her brother, Ned, had told her all when he’d arrived to bring her north. To Winterfell she’d hoped, but they’d gone to King’s Landing once Jon was born and she was able to travel. They’d gone to present themselves to Rhaegar, now their king, as a sign of fealty on Ned’s behalf and as a wife returning to a husband on hers. She’d never forget how different Rhaegar had been that day from the man she’d met at Harrenhal. So confident and self-assured with his new crown, his prophetic ideas falling easily into place around him… until she’d presented their son to the new king.

Jon’s existence had changed him. 

And it had been those moments as he stared at the son in her arms instead of his desired second daughter, that solidified her growing disillusionment with him as a tangible, bitter fact. Lyanna would never forgive that way he’d looked upon the son they’d made. It was as if he hadn’t known what to do with a baby, the way he simply stared at Jon’s scrunched up face and wispy dark hairs; that he’d dared to lift the blankets to check she’d spoken true. When she’d told him the name she’d chosen for Jon, he’d seemed not to have heard her.

_ And perhaps you didn’t, having him blessed under your gods with a different name before ushering us out the door. _

She couldn’t forgive that either. The first time Rhaegar had held Jon, he’d had the septon summoned to anoint him. No matter that it was expected for a prince to follow the Faith, Lyanna had been furious. Even more so when she’d been shipped off two days later. All their years on Dragonstone, Lyanna had taught Jon of her gods in the North. Of weirwoods and whispering woods and carved faces bleeding red sap. He’d taken to it easily, but Rhaegar hadn’t been pleased to find his son had no knowledge of the seven faces of his gods. A septon had been sent, and Jon had been forced to learn.

Everytime Rhaegar did anything with Jon, their son looked as if he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I’ll stay with you, keep you safe, little wolf,” Lyanna promised him now. “Don’t you fret. Not even the king will take me away from your side.”

Someone knocked softly on the door. A moment later, her lord husband was beside her, waving at Ser Gerold and his guards to relegate them to the corridor. Rhaegar gazed down at the children for a long while and said nothing.

“What?” she said stiffly.

“Lyanna, I—”

“Come to carry him off and lock him away in his chambers again? Do you enjoy putting my son’s life at risk?”

“Our son,” he corrected, though he took a step away from her when she turned and raised a hand as if to slap him again. “He’s my son, too, Lyanna. And a prince besides. Expectations will outline every step he takes in his life. And this…”

“Is what it is. Perhaps, if you were here every day with him, you’d find a  _ brilliant _ solution your mother, myself, and the rest of us have not.”

He frowned at her mocking tone, but didn’t retort.

“He’s fine, so you can leave. That’s what you’re good at, Rhaegar.”

“I’m here to see him, and you.”

“You’re here for politics and to ship Viserys off so he might learn to behave under Lord Tywin’s iron fist. Not to build anything meaningful with Jon.”

“Jaehaerys and I—”

“There’s nobody here by that name.”

“He was anointed Prince Jaehaerys by the Faith,” the king reminded her. “Prince Jaehaerys, in honor of a great king, though he’ll never be such himself. Our son will be a knight or a lord, a man of honor, perhaps sung about for ages to c—”

“Life is not a song, Rhaegar. Now leave.”

And Rhaegar did. Shaming and guilting him into action was becoming almost an instinct for her. But life wasn’t a song, not as he’d convinced her of as a naive and foolish girl. She’d thought herself so clever and brave, riding off in the night to meet him and his kingsguard. And he’d sung beautifully, magnetically, decadent sorrows and tragic glories, hypnotizing in a way that had stolen her breath, and claimed her choices for the rest of her life.

_ Life is a cage and a gift and a curse. You will not do the same with Jon. Not ever. _

“You’ll be free from this,” Lyanna swore to Jon’s peaceful face. “Safe and true and free of the burdens my mistakes have heaped at your feet.”

* * *

Lyanna stuck close to Jon in the following days. While Rhaegar met with nearby lords and ladies, the master of the island’s fleet, and spent hours with Viserys, he avoided his wives and children. Jon was back to his normal, mostly cheerful, though occasionally brooding self. He got like that some days, so dark and gloomy it was as if another person had taken over his body. Rhaella always smiled when she saw it; his Rhaegar moments, she called them.

Dany had a way of turning his brooding around, with a smile or a laugh or sometimes just dumping water on his head.

Elia stayed near, too, but distant from her as their children played in their first day outside since the storm. Both the courtyard and Aegon’s Garden had been a mess. Branches and trees down, several loose gargoyles swept from the towers and shattered on the stone below. 

Ser Arthur still could not fathom how Jon had not been swept from the old tower’s face, too. He was their greatest protector since Lyanna had left Winterfell, and yet, not fully trusted either. Jon’s life was never in question with Ser Arthur, of course, nor her own if it was that or death, but their happiness was rarely of importance when faced with the king’s orders. Ser Arthur had become gentler in their years of Dragonstone exile, charmed in part by young Jon and Daenerys, but Lyanna understood his place now. His position of pillar instead of human. He was a friend and not; her captor and her safety. If he understood the complications, he’d never addressed it.

Lyanna spent that morning watching the four children play, enjoying the warmth of a robust summer sun. They’d been running about since daybreak and all through lunch, except Aegon who kept to his books. Now they were under the great willow tree, dusty and sweaty and bubbling with laughter as they braided one another’s hair.

Jon and Rhaenys seemed more interested in making a tangled mess, but when Dany made them all switch who they were braiding, Jon became quite serious with Dany’s hair in his hands.

“They seem to be getting along nicely.”

Elia had joined her, not sitting yet, but standing stiffly beside her bench.

“Yes, Dany makes him help with her braids all the time,” Lyanna said, sliding over to make room. Courtesy was important, no matter the distrust between them. “I suppose it will be good practice, if he ever has a daughter.”

Elia took a seat. “Or his cousins. I hear your brother has a young daughter.”

“Yes, Sansa is two now.”

They both shifted awkwardly, uncomfortable in the humid heat of summer.

“Jon seems to have moved on from his daring adventure the other night.”

Lyanna smiled a bit, both at his name and his resilience. Elia, at least, gave him that much. “Jon has a strength about him that I cannot fathom sometimes. Daenerys does, too. You can see it in her eyes, like someone’s lit a torch behind them.”

“She has a fire to her,” Elia agreed. “Aegon would never be so daring nor bold. Scaling the castle’s balconies to ensure someone’s well-being… he would care, yes, but defiance is not in his nature.”

A snub lingered in those words, or so Lyanna assumed. At her own defiant actions in the face of her betrothal to Robert Baratheon, to the decision to marry an already married man. She said nothing instead.

Elia was unfazed. “Rhaenys adores her. She’s always wanted a little sister.”

This time, Lyanna couldn’t hold her tongue. “If His Grace’s prophecy were true, she would have one.”

The king’s first wife shifted, but did not respond.

After that, they fell silent. Lyanna didn’t know what else to say. How did one hold a real conversation with her sister-wife? Was that even what they were? Was there even a name for their relation since they were not, in fact, sisters to Rhaegar, as Visenya and Rhaenys had been to the Conqueror? Elia was someone she’d known for less than an hour prior to this visit. They hadn’t spoken at the Harrenhal tourney. Nor in King’s Landing. She’d seen Elia’s reaction to herself and Jon that day, but nothing else.

“It was wrong to try to keep them apart,” Elia ventured. She shifted her skirts, back stiff and proud. “If Rhaegar had done such a thing to Rhaenys or Aegon, I would have hit him, too. How could he ever understand the love and protectiveness a mother has for her children?”

_ Why doesn’t he, with three children and two wives? _

Lyanna only nodded. She had little knowledge of Elia’s relationship with Rhaegar these days. They’d been a political match, yes, and Rhaegar had expressed fondness for her when Lyanna had first met him, but never love. Not in the way he’d claimed to love her.

Ser Arthur arrived then from his post by the garden entrance. Lyanna was relieved. Whatever lived between her and Elia was too tangible and tangled. It was too difficult to try for less than peace but more than civility.

“Dinner will be served soon. The king…”

“Say no more.” Elia rose to her feet. “Rhaenys, Aegon, it’s time to get cleaned up for dinner.”

Aegon came without a fuss. He was as obedient as ever, not willful like his siblings. To Lyanna, he was an odd child. Not dangerous or worrisome in relation to Jon, but a boy she expected would struggle a great deal once the crown arrived for him.

“But, Mother, I’ve still got all  _ this _ to braid!”

Rhaenys waved her hands in exasperation at Jon’s wild curls, then made a big show of being dragged back into the castle by Ser Lewyn. When they had left, Lyanna went to retrieve Dany and Jon, who was still expertly braiding.

“Loves, it’s time to go inside and clean up.”

Jon poked his tongue out in concentration, weaving smaller braids together into a larger one. “Does this look good, Mama?”

“It’s lovely.” She let them finish, then led them inside by their hands, Dany beaming and bouncing as she ran her free hand over her big, slightly crooked, braids. “Careful, or you’ll undo them.”

Lyanna saw Dany off to Rhaella’s capable hands, taking Jon on to their shared bathing chamber. For once, he didn’t fight and fuss about getting “prettied up” as he’d begun to call it. He half-scrubbed himself, and left the rest to her, grumbling as she soaped up his hair.

“Hush, you don’t want fleas and lice or I’ll have Ser Arthur shave you bald.”

Jon splashed her, his face falling. “You wouldn’t!”

“I will if you won’t let me wash these curls, Jon.”

He sat quietly then, picking at a scab on his knee as she rinsed his hair.

“Do Rhaenys and Aegon stop being my sister and brother when they leave?”

“Of course not. Who told you that?”

“Nobody,” Jon muttered, in a way that told Lyanna quite clearly the answer was Viserys Targaryen. “So they’ll still be my brother and sister?”

“Yes, for always.” She gave his hair a final rinse, and asked a question she’d been avoiding. “What do you think of them, Rhaenys and Aegon?”

He took his time answering. Jon could be thoughtful when he wished, sometimes so silent Lyanna worried his mind had drifted off. Rhaegar had been like that. The reminder of her husband was difficult to see on her boy’s face some days.

“Rhaenys is fun,” Jon said. “I like having someone I don’t have to feel bad about hitting ‘cause she hits just as hard with our swords.”

Lyanna smiled. “So long as neither of you hit too hard.”

“We won’t, Mama.”

“And Aegon?”

Jon didn’t answer until she hoisted him from the tepid bath water. He buried his face in the soft plush towel and shrugged.

“Egg’s nice, too, but…”

“What, sweetheart?” Her heart tipped over. Dislike this early would only lead to trouble. “Aegon’s very nice, I thought.”

“He reminds me of Father a bit,” Jon muttered. “I don’t… Egg’s nice and his books are interesting. I don’t hate him like—”

“Jon, whatever dislike there is between your father and myself doesn’t mean you have to feel the same about him, too.”

Her son said nothing to that. In some ways, Lyanna recognized it was a lost cause right now. Jon was too young. All he saw was Rhaegar coming and going, a father that tried to push him toward certain interests instead of his natural ones. And above all, a man who refused to call Jon by the name she had given him; the name he’d picked of the two.

Jon rubbed his face against his towel. “Egg’s better. He doesn’t like to practice swords much, but he did some drawings of that wrist thing Rhaenys keeps using to smack me and now I can do it, too!”

“That was very nice of him, wasn’t it?”

Jon nodded, considering. “I know he’s not Father, he’s just lots like him. He won’t spar with me, though, not like Dany will sometimes.”

“Have you asked him to join you?”

He frowned. “No. You think he will?”

“I think you won’t know if you don’t ask,” Lyanna told him. “But be patient. He’s new to the sword, even if he’s older than you.”

“Having a brother and sister is my new favorite thing,” Jon decided, smiling up at her. “After Dany.”

Lyanna smiled sadly as she dried him off. “Of course she is. You and Daenerys have been together since she was born.”

“We’re gonna be together always,” Jon said and he sounded so grown up and confident it gave Lyanna pause. “Even when the ice winds come, Mama, it’ll be me and Dany.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. You’ll be there, too.”

And that was all Jon said. She didn’t try to pry for further information. Both Jon and Dany stayed tight-lipped on so much of their dreams. But she didn’t miss the absolute certainty he had in his relationship with Daenerys. They were always together. Sometimes, she wondered what else he might glimpse in his dreams; if it was just a childhood belief or something much more.

_ Rhaegar will never allow it. He’s set his sights on Aegon and Daenerys, fool that he is. Surely Elia has chosen that betrothal, too. _

* * *

Jon settled quickly after dinner. Lyanna was relieved, leaving the door unlatched with Ser Arthur as guard, in the likely event of nightmares and late night bed hopping. Rhaella was waiting for her in the solar, tea and wine on the table.

She’d barely taken a seat when someone knocked. Dreading another night of fighting and terrified children, Lyanna stayed put as Rhaella answered.

“Elia, thank you for joining us.”

Her fellow wife to the king entered in a summery nightgown, her crown absent but she was as beautiful as a warm sun. 

Rhaella shut and locked the door. “I thought we might talk this evening,  _ to _ one another instead of past or at each other.”

Elia’s mouth thinned as she frowned, but she took a seat across from Lyanna.

“Rhaella, this really isn’t neces—”

“As grandmother to your children and a mother to your husband and Daenerys, it is.”

Lyanna reached for the wine without a second thought. Rhaella could be gentler than a lamb, but she could also be the dragon on her family’s sigil when needed. When she got like she was right now there was no turning her away. Elia either didn’t realize this, or was prepared for a fight Lyanna had no interest in.

“Our children have only just met,” Elia insisted. “There’s hardly anything for discussion yet.”

“Yet being the important word.” Rhaella took a seat between them like the spine of a book holding two covers together. “I’ve known you for years, Elia. You’re not so naive to misunderstand our predicament now that you’re here. You’ve seen how they are together. You know the politics far better than us since you’ve been in King’s Landing.”

Elia looked away, but Lyanna still caught the anxiety that had momentarily flared. She felt it, too. Keenly, deeply, to the point of being sick sometimes thinking of the dangers that lied in Jon’s future. Most of the realm would see him as a bastard or a threat, despite the Faith legitimizing her marriage. They would look at him and see the war that had been his birth. His future might be cut short by the woman sitting across from her, or her family in Dorne. Or someone else looking to get into Aegon’s good graces a decade from now. And that didn’t even address the fallout likely to come from Rhaegar’s planned betrothal.

“There’s nothing to be said,” Lyanna told Rhaella. _ Not with Elia here. _ “Rhaegar is king. He will do as he wishes, regardless of what anyone wants. And Jon…”

“Will no doubt carry the burdens of his father for the rest of his life. They all will to some degree. Our intervention can lessen that.”

“Jon will be fine.” Elia glanced at her before looking away again.

“Fine?” Lyanna’s temper flared like molten earth from Dragonmont. “How could he be fine when his very existence is a threat to your son? Your family?”

“Lyanna—”

“No, it’s true, and you both know it,” Lyanna snapped, waving off Rhaella’s interruption. “The whole realm will think he’s—gods, I’m sure you would have been thrilled if he’d truly fallen from the tower the other night. If my son were gone and yours was left with no worries about his—”

“How  _ dare _ you.” Elia was on her feet, Lyanna quick to follow. “I would never harm your son! He’s a boy. Young, innocent. If either of us are in question, it ought to be  _ you _ . Marrying my husband, birthing him another child, hidden here on Dragonstone, my  _ son _ ’s rightful seat as Crown Prince, likely raising him to unseat Aegon someday. I see him in the yard, fighting and practicing, a warrior king in the making. _ Your _ making. What chance does Aegon have when all he does is read?”

Lyanna was too stunned to reply. Part of her wanted to believe Elia, to trust her that her words were both true and honest, but she’d trusted Rhaegar the same and ended up here. The other part loathed her accusations as much as Elia seemed to despise hers.

“Well, now that you’ve  _ both _ aired your nonsensical beliefs of one another, shall we have a real discussion?” Rhaella poured more wine and forced them both to take glasses. “You’ve built up nothing but assumptions of one another for years now. But you don’t know each other in the slightest. I, however, have known you both well. My grandsons are wonderful children as are their mothers. Different, yes, but they are brothers.”

“Brothers do terrible things to one again.”

Elia wrenched her mouth open in fury, but Rhaella raised a hand. Reluctantly, Lyanna and Elia sat down again.

“I’ve known each of you separately for many years,” she repeated. “And I know at heart that you both love your children fiercely. I would do anything to protect my own, and both of you would as well. Jon would not harm Aegon, Aegon will not harm Jon. They’re boys yet, not men with ideas. Those ideas start now, if you allow them to see each other in unsavory lights. It’s our task to teach them better.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Lyanna insisted.

“I won’t suffer another war or more loss to my family. We’re as fragile as we’ve ever been, and one false move means that Targaryens are gone for good,” Rhaella said, and the grief in her words made Lyanna feel suddenly ashamed. “I know you have concerns, but the Martells would not be so foolish as to harm Jon. Not this young.”

“They won’t at all,” Elia said softly. “I’ve told all of them if any harm came to Jon at their hands, harm to themselves would come from mine. Oberyn may be a hot-head, but I understand what such a move would mean. For myself, for Aegon, for Rhaegar and the crown. And Jon… he’s only a boy. He’s no threat to anyone.”

“You really told Prince Oberyn and Prince Doran that?”

Elia looked annoyed. “Yes. Harming children is not what we do. I suppose it’s too much to hope you’ve done the same with  _ your _ brothers. The North’s honoring of words and oaths seem lacking in recent years.”

The jab stung, but Lyanna didn’t flinch from it. Ned had gone to war against the crown. Rightly so, considering Aerys’s demands for his head and the deaths of their father and Brandon, but he’d taken up arms nevertheless. Rhaegar had been stern, but forgiving. As for herself, Lyanna knew what Elia meant. She had, afterall, married another woman’s husband.

“Benjen joined the Night’s Watch. He’s no worry to anyone except wildlings,” Lyanna said. “And Ned…” She almost laughed. “He would never think to harm a child in such a way, whatever his shortcomings. Neither would I, Elia. I don’t want… they’re brothers. The more strongly they feel that bond, the better we’ll all be in the future. The  _ safer _ Jon is. I want that for Jon, to have a good relationship with Aegon and Rhaenys, to love them as I love my own brothers. To grow up as friends.”

At first, she didn’t think her honesty had penetrated Elia’s hard eyes, but finally, her fellow wife spoke.

“I want that for them, too. Friendship, not war or grief. The world will threaten too much of that without any brotherly rivalries. Lord Tywin will not stay silent forever.”

“No he won’t.” Rhaella downed her entire glass of wine. “I think we all want the same thing for them. Happiness. Choices.” Her eyes met Lyanna’s. “Afterall, I’d rather not have a daughter who follows in Rhaegar’s multiple marriage footsteps.”

“Multiple?” Elia looked ready to laugh. “The Faith would never allow a woman to do such a thing. They fought Rhaegar on his, even once he was crowned.”

Rhaella sipped her wine. “Fine, a sham marriage legitimized by the Faith, and a secret husband and lover who holds her heart.”

“Jon and Dany are young,” Lyanna said, suddenly uncomfortable. Her son was, after all, only a boy. Imagining him grown, or married, or the future queen’s lover, was too much. “They’re very close now, but once Rhaegar sends them down separate paths…”

“It won’t change,” Rhaella said quietly. “I see the way they look at one another, even now, before they understand it. Their hearts have already chosen. Perhaps their shared dreams are a sign, or a warning to us all. I cannot say how or why, but keeping them from one another will help nobody. Besides, Jon’s marriage prospects are thin right now outside of another Northern house.”

“Rhaegar’s still insistent his betrothal plan is for the best,” Elia added. “Much as I’ve tried to dissuade him, he believes restoring the traditional Targaryen marriage values is best. And Daenerys and Aegon both…”

“Have traditional Targaryen features,” Lyanna finished. “Yes, I can see him finding that logical.”

Elia sniffed in disdain. “A marriage to Storm’s End or Highgarden would serve the crown better. Lord Barartheon’s young daughter would bring Storm’s End and Casterly Rock to the crown. Lord Tywin may fall silent for good if his granddaughter were to become Aegon’s queen. Make Aegon’s rule easier to manage with those ties instead of marrying his own blood. Daenerys is lovely, Rhaella, but…”

“Rhaegar’s never been a keen political mind, I’m afraid,” Rhaella reminded them. “For all his reading, he’s never mastered a political common sense.”

And Lyanna knew that all too well, though she’d been too young and foolish to recognize it at the time.

“Yes, his second marriage proves that,” Elia quipped. Then she looked at Lyanna, her dark eyes unyielding.”I suppose being a second queen was preferable to surviving that oaf Robert Baratheon.”

Lyanna didn’t answer at once. “Sometimes, I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Oh? Having second thoughts on marrying my husband, are we?”

She almost snapped back, almost took her rage and bitterness out on Elia. Six years ago, she would not have hesitated to do so. But Elia wasn’t to blame. It had not been her decision to court Lyanna. Nor her decision to run off and elope with Rhaegar. That had been her, Lyanna. And Rhaegar, too. Elia had not asked for any of this, nor done anything to create the situation.

“It was wrong that I ran off with him and married him,” Lyanna admitted. “I was young, foolish, scared of the future my father had decided for me. And knowing Rhaegar as I do now, I don’t think I would do it again, given the chance. I can’t imagine my life without Jon, of course, but without Rhaegar, I can. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you with my actions. It was thoughtless to listen to his pretty words and think the world was some silly song.”

Surprise riddled Elia’s features, but Rhaella was smiling as she raised her wine glass to her lips.

“I…” Elia faltered, hesitant and unsure instead of the unwavering strength Lyanna had come to expect the past few days. “Your words are appreciated. Late, but it isn’t as though we’ve ever properly talked. Rhaegar and I… it was political, of course. Fondness, not love like he claimed to have found with you.”

“He was wrong,” Lyanna said. “I’m not sure he knows the sort of love I believed we had.”

And it hurt to admit, especially in front of Rhaella, but she didn’t shy away from Lyanna’s words.

“My son is many things. Unfortunately, he always favored prophecy and beliefs over what he could have right before him. Until he was crowned at least. And love…” Rhaella sighed. “It’s not meant for kings. Not unless they long for heartbreak or destruction.”

They all fell silent, drinking their wine and listening to the wind whistling outside the tower windows. Lyanna hated the sound. And the rumbles of the volcano and the snarling slaps of the sea far below. It was the North she longed for. The quiet snows, the whispers in the godswood, the earthy warmth of hot springs and solitude. The howls of distant packs that roamed the forests and moors. One day, she would get to take Jon there, to the home she wished he could have grown up in.

“We have to convince Rhaegar of a different betrothal,” Elia said, and she looked as shocked as Lyanna felt at her words. “I want Aegon to be happy, as much as he can. And Rhaenys, too. Having him marry Daenerys, knowing she loves another… I couldn’t bear to watch that unhappiness for him. To know the animosity was building and to not do anything about it. If I live to see him crowned that will be enough unhappiness to witness.”

“He’s said he doesn’t want to be king?” Rhaella frowned. “Ruling is his destiny. As Rhaegar’s first-born son…”

“No, he hasn’t said it but,” Elia shook her head, “I know my son, as I know my daughter. If he were offered the choice, I know what Aegon would choose.”

“Nevertheless, he will be king. I’ll work with him,” Rhaella decided. “Rhaegar hasn’t said anything yet, but I know their lives are about to be uprooted. Daenerys and I will undoubtedly return to King’s Landing with you, Elia. Or join you shortly. And Jon…”

Lyanna flinched. She had no idea what Rhaegar’s plans were for Jon. If he’d bothered to make any. She certainly hadn’t been asked for an opinion or suggestions.

“Winterfell,” Elia said. “Not definitely, but he’s mentioned it within my hearing a few times. It won’t be forever, but the North sounded likely. I’m not sure about where he’ll go afterward. His ear is mine, though. I can plant the idea of him talking to you before making the announcement.”

“No, I…” Lyanna stopped, watching the expressions flicker on Elia’s face. Uncertainty was there, and hope, too. Perhaps a chance at trust some day and an agreement to work together, to secure their childrens’ happiness and safety and futures. “Please. Knowing Rhaegar, he’d just as soon tell Jon first and upset him without my knowledge.”

Elia actually smiled. “Yes, Rhaegar is such a… such a…”

“Man?” Rhaella suggested. “My own father was similar. It’s why I was forced to marry Aerys. Another man insistent on prophecy.”

“Aegon and Jon won’t be that way,” Lyanna decided. “Prophecy won’t dictate their lives in such a fashion.”

“No, it won’t,” Elia agreed. “Rhaegar refuses to touch those books now, and Aegon has no interest on his own. It’s the world he longs to understand. Dragons and lions and krakens. The Free Cities, how everything around him was created. He loves to understand.”

“Jon can be the same, in a way. Not with books,” Lyanna added. “Rhaegar pushes him toward studies so much he’s started to detest them. But he’s full of questions and curiosities, so long as Dany reads with him.”

“They could make a great council,” Rhaella said, trying to be off-handed, but both Lyanna and Elia gave her steely looks. “Aegon would be well-served as king, to have Rhaenys and Jon and Daenerys at his side, to fight and protect and to debate one another.”

“Yes, I suppose, but,” Lyanna shook her head, “a small council of mostly Targaryens would never do.”

“Still, Aegon seeking their aide and knowledge and strengths would serve them all for the better,” Elia said, frowning in thought. “Raising Aegon’s children alongside Jon’s; another generation bonded instead of pitted against one another…”

It was certainly a thought, but almost too much to consider right now. Only an hour ago, Lyanna had assumed nothing but the worst from Elia and her family. That they had all marked Jon for an early grave in Aegon’s name.

“Perhaps another night,” Rhaella said, her eyes traveling from Elia to Lyanna. “Though, I do hope we see one another more truly than before.”

Elia nodded, thanked Rhaella for the wine, and departed. Lyanna lingered a moment longer, finishing her wine, considering everything. Jon’s life would not be easy if left as is. Rhaegar’s plans would alienate him further, the world awaiting him would solidify that feeling of not belonging. And Daenerys…

She was less defiant now, but in ten years, faced with something she likely would not want, Lyanna was sure she would refuse her place. Much the same way she had. Dany had her moments even now, where she refused to believe or live as expected. It was part of what bonded her and Jon together so fiercely.

“Lyanna?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I’ll go.”

“You’re all right?” Rhaella’s hand was gentle as it touched her shoulder. “It’s a lot to grasp all at once when you haven’t seen it clearly before.”

“No, I… a lot of it’s what I’ve wanted for him. For Jon to have a say, a choice. To have his own path, but… if we intervene and set up different futures for them, are we not just the same? Telling them to do this and go here and marry this person.”

Rhaella frowned. “I expect Jon and Daenerys will move toward one another with or without our guidance, but that remains to be seen.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.”

Lyanna said her goodbyes and returned to her chambers. They were chilly with no fire, but it reminded her of home in the North. She changed into her sleeping shift, took a seat on the window ledge that overlooked the volcano. Six long years of that view, of wondering if each day with Jon was a gift soon to be taken. It was hard to consider that Elia had never had horrible intentions towards them despite her anger; that her fellow wife had hoped, in some manner, for the same as herself.

_ Can I truly trust her? Rhaella certainly does, but Jon… _

And did she have any other options that wouldn’t lead to another war?

And then there was Winterfell to consider. For surely, Lyanna would be allowed to make that journey with Jon, if Elia was correct. Who better to introduce Jon to Winterfell than a daughter of the North? She smiled, thinking of Ned and his wife and children, of Maester Luwin and Hullen and all the rest. Perhaps, Benjen would be allowed leave to visit briefly to see her and meet Jon.

But Jon…

He’d be lost without Daenerys after a life of her beside him. Scared and excited and upset as only a young child could be in the face of his first real unknown.

_ You’ll be happy, my sweet one, with a good life and family. We’ll make sure of it. I promise. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for this time. 
> 
> Little Jon is next in the line-up and then Rhaegar and Elia after him. Next update Tuesday, assuming my flirting with an Avatar TLA Jonerys crossover idea doesn't interrupt writing for this lmao
> 
> Until next time, stay safe!


	4. JON I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brothers bond, Rhaegar tries to bond as well, Jon struggles with names, and his future path is placed before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Tuesday, another update. How long will I manage it is anyone's guess!
> 
> This week it's little Jon's first POV.
> 
> Enjoy!

“It’s gotta have a name. Every _good_ sword has a name.”

Jon rolled his eyes as Rhaenys continued to poke at him. She was smiling and twirling, forceful but not taunting like Viserys could be. Right now, she was smitten with his new sword—a _real_ sword, not the lighter wooden ones they used in the yard. Mama had forbidden him from training with it for now, but it was all his. He carried it everywhere. Rhaenys’s uncle had given her a spear on her last visit to Dorne, she’d said, but her mother refused to let her carry it around. Even as he watched his sister, she twirled his blade, the steel reflecting the sun like a bolt of lightning.

“I haven’t named it yet,” Jon told her for the hundredth time. If he was honest, he was hoping Dany would think up one. He wasn’t so good at naming stuff. Mostly ‘cause it took so long to figure out something with _meaning_. One day, she’d name their dragons, too. Jon was certain of it. “It’ll get a name when it’s ready.”

Rhaenys made a noise like a fart, then grimaced as her mother scolded her.

Jon left them to it, sweaty and tired, his protective padding weighing him down from their practicing. Dany was with her mother today, having her lessons on stitching that always left her with bloody fingertips, but Aegon was in the garden under his willow tree, quiet and thoughtful and almost eerie in how he reminded Jon of their father. But Aegon was far nicer. He talked swords with Jon and knew as much about dragons as Maester Cressen and didn’t force him to recite long boring house sigils and words. So far, he was a good brother.

“Dragons again?” Jon asked. He tried to sit down, but couldn’t manage it with all his padding on.

Aegon shook his head. “Not the animal kind, the people kind.” He bent the corner of a page and closed his book. “About the first Aegon, the—”

“Conqueror,” Jon finished. “He did lots of stuff with his sisters. Dany likes the part about Visenya and her dragon visiting the Eyrie.”

Aegon beamed. “Rhaenys likes that, too. But she likes Queen Nymeria more.”

Behind him, Rhaenys was having a fit as Queen Elia led her inside. They both paused to watch their sister get dragged away. Ser Arthur was still there, and Ser Lewyn was under the archway that led inside. Jon considered his brother for a moment before asking.

“Do you want to spar with me?”

Aegon’s whole face fell. He seemed horrified at the thought and quite nervous.

“I won’t hit you hard or anything,” Jon told him. “Dany doesn’t like it much either, but she’s the only one my size to spar with so Grandmother lets her sometimes. Says it’s good practice in case she’s got to protect herself. But we’re princes, so we’ve definitely got to know it.”

“I...I suppose.”

“I’m not Rhaenys. You’ll keep your teeth and stuff against me.”

Aegon laughed at that. Jon had learned enough of his older sister in the last week to know how rough she could be. Exciting, but rougher than him by half. The only time she was truly gentle and sweet was with Balerion in her lap.

“No, Rhae is a lot. Mother says she’s like her brother as a kid.”

Jon offered a hand up to Aegon, who took it.

Ser Arthur was just putting the wooden practice swords away when they reached him.

“One moment, Prince Jon, I’ll help you out of that padding.”

“Aegon wants to spar with me.”

That gave Ser Arthur pause. He considered them both carefully, shot an odd look at Ser Lewyn, who moved closer to the yard.

“I’m going to try,” Aegon chimed in, looking nervous, but Jon was glad to see he wasn’t scared now. That’s all it was, he was sure. Being scared of the hits, or scared by how rough Rhaenys was. She was only nine, but she was a much bigger nine than his six and Aegon’s wiry seven. Jon liked the rough play fine, when they hit the dirt and tumbled around kicking each other, but Aegon…

He wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like Dany either. She didn’t mind all that so much, but she didn’t like it a lot either.

“As you say, my princes.”

Jon had some water while Aegon was suited up. By the time Ser Arthur had him wrapped up, Aegon looked like a weirdly shaped cloud, hesitant with his wooden sword in hand.

“It’s heavy,” Aegon muttered, trying to lift it.

Jon lifted his with practiced ease. “It gets lighter,” he assured his brother, then he waved for Aegon to come closer. “Go on, you can have the first hit to test it out.”

Aegon hesitated, but that was okay. Jon had, too, the first time his mother had handed him one and told him to whack Ser Arthur with it. Afterall, Ser Arthur was about as big as a real dragon, if Jon had to guess.

It took two hands, but Aegon got his sword up and knocked it against Jon’s padded arm. He hardly felt a thing.

“Like that?”

“One hand is better,” Jon told him, demonstrating slowly with a soft strike to Aegon’s upper arm. “You’ve gotta learn all the feet stuff first.”

“I’ve read about it,” Aegon told him.

And Ser Arthur was off then, having Jon demonstrate all the different footwork they’d been learning, the angles and strikes. Aegon picked most of it up, but he couldn’t spar half as well as Rhaenys could, was hesitant to hit Jon with any real force. And definitely was no Ser Arthur. For a moment, Jon understood how Ser Arthur must feel when he fought Jon for practice. Like he was teasing a baby, probably. They didn’t fight long, but that was fine, too. Rhaenys had already knocked him about all afternoon.

Aegon was drenched in sweat, shaking from all the extra weight as Ser Lewyn and Ser Arthur helped him unsuit. Jon grinned at him, thumped him with his own sword playfully.

“We can spar more tomorrow, if you want.”

“I think that would be lovely,” a new voice said behind him. Queen Elia’s delicate hand squeezed Jon’s padded shoulder. “Jon’s convinced you to give it a chance, I see.”

“Yes, Queen Elia, it’s lots of fun with a brother.”

She smiled at him, and Jon grinned back. He liked Queen Elia, despite whatever weird feelings were between his mama and her. Every time she saw him, she always called him by his name. Frowns and sternness weren’t her first reaction to him. Not like Father.

Jon was freed of his sweaty padding and left to wander. Mama was with Rhaegar this afternoon, talking. Or so she said. He was certain it was mostly fighting and mean looks. They did that better than anything else. While Elia and Aegon headed inside, Jon went into the garden, searching out his mother’s favorite spot. It wasn’t a real heart tree, not like the pale bark and scarlet leaves she always described, but it was their Stark place at Dragonstone. Ser Arthur’s boots crunched on the little stones and leaves behind him.

“Your Lady Mother expects us soon for dinner, my prince.”

Jon only nodded. He was never quite sure of Ser Arthur outside of the practice yard. His sworn shield was very nice, but his face could be so blank sometimes. It was like trying to read a book that hadn’t been written yet. And after the other night, Jon had a better idea of what Ser Arthur was.

_He listens to Father first, no matter what._

“I wanna see the tree first,” Jon said, and his word was enough. He was a prince afterall. That seemed to mean his word was worth something—except to his father.

Ser Arthur nodded and stood watch outside the tall stones marking the entrance. It wasn’t much, just a little corner buried in the beautiful, overflowing gardens that filled Dragonstone’s dark gloom with vibrant life. After the windswept cliffs and caves, the mini godswood was Jon’s favorite place on the island. Lilacs covered the ground beside the great oak tree, and sometimes, when the weather got a chill to it, his mother’s favorite winter roses sprouted and bloomed. They were a rare thing so far south, ones she’d planted from cuttings Lord Stark had sent when she’d decided to make this corner her own.

Jon knelt in the thick grass and patted the exposed tree roots. When he was just a baby, his mother had carved a great big face into it, then let him carve a little one of his own when he’d gotten big enough. He wasn’t quite sure what praying was, but he liked to sit in the quiet and gloom, to listen to the wind whistle with the leaves and wonder…

_Will the old gods be with us, when the cold comes?_

So far, Jon wasn’t sure. His mother always said their gods couldn’t hear them so far south, where the weirwoods didn’t grow any longer. They’d all been cut down. One day, she said, they’d go to Winterfell and he’d see a real godswood.

But the ice people could reach him here. Both of them, Dany and himself. Surely, the old gods could, too.

“Keep Mama and Grandmother and Dany safe,” Jon asked. “And Egg and Rhae and Queen Elia, too. She’s really nice.” He hesitated a moment. “And Father. They’d all be real sad if he wasn’t here.”

But Jon wasn’t sure how he’d feel. Life was simpler when his father wasn’t around. Mama was happy, and he was always Jon and not Jaehaerys. He didn’t even understand why Father insisted on a different name than everyone else, not when Jon liked his own name best. Nobody frowned at him and made him feel bad about liking swords more than books. Nobody fought either. Well, besides Viserys, but his uncle—whatever that was—didn’t spend much time harassing him and Dany anymore. Viserys told anyone within earshot that he was a man grown, but Jon didn’t believe it.

“Goodnight, old gods,” Jon whispered. He gave the big carved face a pat, and then his smaller face, too. 

Ser Arthur was waiting for him a dozen feet away, under the shade of the trees, but it was more golden and bright out here.

“Ready, Prince Jon?”

“Yes.”

* * *

That evening, Jon had dinner alone with his mother. Having no Dany or Grandmother present was strange, but the isolation was even more odd when Dragonstone had so many family visitors. Jon ate everything anyway, too hungry from sparring to let the solitude keep him from a full belly. Still, his mother was lost in thought, not scolding him for slurping his soup or having his elbows on the table.

“Mama, are we in trouble?”

“Trouble? Darling, why would you ask that?” Lyanna gave him a stern look then. “Did you get into another fight with Rhaenys today, Jon?”

“No.”

She gave him a look as if she didn’t quite believe him. Jon was quick to fill the silence with something better.

“I sparred with Egg today,” Jon told her, and her face lit up at once. He still wasn’t quite sure what that was about, but his mother was very concerned about him and Aegon. “We had lots of fun. I showed him all the footwork.”

“That’s wonderful, Jon. It’s very important to have a good relationship with your siblings,” Lyanna told him. “My own brothers were my best friends when I was your age. Especially your Uncle Benjen.”

Jon nodded, considering. He’d heard the word uncle enough to know it was family, but he didn’t quite get what it was compared to mother and father. Viserys was his uncle, too, afterall, but Viserys wasn’t much older than him like his Uncle Benjen and Uncle Ned were.

“Why’s he my uncle?”

“Because he’s my brother, Jon. Ned is also my brother, so he’s your uncle, too.”

“Oh.” Jon frowned. “But why’s Viserys my uncle, too? He’s not as old as them.”

His mother smiled and patted his arm. “It’s nothing to do with age, sweetheart. Blood defines it, not how old anyone is. Viserys is your father’s brother, so he’s your uncle just as Ned and Benjen are my brothers and your uncles.”

Jon shoved his remaining soup around his bowl, dragging little trails of liquid around with the last hunk of meat.

“So Dany’s my aunt because she’s Father’s sister?”

“Yes, love.”

“Even though I’m older than her.”

His mother laughed. “Yes, Jon.”

“That’s weird.”

“It’s not the most common arrangement,” his mother agreed. “Usually aunts and uncles _are_ older, but not always.”

Jon finished his soup, watched his mother fall back into her thoughts. It was a rare day when she was so quiet and distant from him. They didn’t eat alone often, but even when they did she never stopped talking to him. Asking about his lessons, his swordplay, what mischief he and Dany had planned for the morrow. But if she’d spent all day fighting with Father, and now they were shut away...

“Why are we in trouble, Mama?”

This time, she heard him properly.

“We aren’t, Jon. Everyone else is simply busy tonight.”

“But it’s dinner time,” Jon reasoned. “Are… are they all eating dinner without us?”

She hesitated and that was the only answer Jon needed. His insides shriveled.

“Did I do something?”

“No, of course not. Your father… he’s protective of you, Jon, that’s all. Lord Velaryon has come all the way from Driftmark to see the king.”

And he nodded like he accepted that, but Jon didn’t really believe that anymore. His father was protective of Dany and he seemed the same with Aegon and Rhaenys, but they were all at the same dinner with Lord Velaryon and he wasn’t. He must have done something—or not done something —Father wanted. That was usually what made Rhaegar frown at him. Not wanting to read for hours, reciting endless facts about swordplay and movement instead of their ancestors. It wasn’t that he _didn’t_ know that stuff, but it wasn’t what he was best at. But Rhaenys didn’t seem to have much interest in all of that either, and she was still at dinner when he wasn’t.

_It’s just me he doesn’t like. Me being Jon instead of Jaehaerys._

“I’m sure Dany will tell you all about how boring it was, sweet wolf. You know, I _bet_ she’s half in tears from how bored she is listening to those silly old men talk.” Lyanna kissed his forehead. “How’s a story before bed?”

Jon nodded and made himself smile. “The one about the Laughing Tree knight?”

* * *

Dany woke him hours later, not from a shared nightmare, but simply to see him. All day, they’d been kept from one another. Jon didn’t like days like that, rare as they were. She was in her bed clothes instead of one of her fancy dinner dresses, and she looked quite cross with him when she poked him awake. 

“You weren’t at dinner,” Dany told him, her lips pursed. She crossed her arms and sat down on his stomach hard, with all of her weight and her boney butt. “I had to eat _all_ my sprouts ‘cause you weren’t there to eat them for me.”

Jon pushed at her to get off his tummy. “I ate with Mama. We… He didn’t want me there.”

Dany slid off his belly as he sat up. Her whole expression changed, one moment anger, the next confusion.

“But Rhae and Egg were there and had to meet that Lord Valor man,” she said. “Maybe… maybe Auntie Lya forgot you were invited until you’d started eating.”

“No.” Jon scowled and turned his glare onto the dwindling fire across his chambers. His absence from the few feasts they’d had on Dragonstone when nearby lords came to visit wasn’t uncommon. That first night of this visit had been a rare thing. Father hid him, whatever Mama said. “Feasts with lords are for Prince Jaehaerys, not Jon.”

Dany took his hand and criss-crossed all their fingers, one by one. “That’s silly. There was a Lord Jon there. Rhaegar’s foot.”

“Hand,” Jon corrected. “He’s Lord Arryn, not Lord Jon.”

“They’re both his name,” Dany argued. “Just like you’re both even if Jon is better. But Jaehaerys is okay, too. It’s spelled lots like mine.”

“I guess.”

His frown stayed fixed, even as Dany tugged him to lay down amongst all his blankets and pillows.

“Sometimes I’m Dany and sometimes I’m Daenerys,” she reminded him. “It’s okay to be both.”

“It’s different,” Jon muttered, and he couldn’t quite explain it, but he knew it was true. His mama had picked his name, when he was just a little red-faced thing, she said. She’d taken one look at him and he was her Jon. But Father had decided he was Jaehaerys instead. “Dany’s short for Daenerys. Jon’s separate.”

She curled up against his side and nudged his head with hers. “You’re my Jon. We’ll make him understand.”

And Jon nodded, but didn’t believe it. Nothing he’d ever said made Rhaegar pick Jon over Jaehaerys.

“Balerion wrecked half the hall and got soup all over Rhaegar and Viserys.” Dany grinned against his shoulder. “I think Rhae put him up to it. She laughed so hard she ended up under the table.”

Jon smiled, a real one. “Did she get in more trouble?”

“No,” Dany yawned and draped her arm over his chest. “It was really boring besides that. All they did was talk about food and coin. Aegon listened lots, but I don’t know what most of it meant. I don’t think he did either.”

“So, it wasn’t fun?”

Something in his tone made Dany prop herself up on her elbow. “Course not. You weren’t there to eat my sprouts.” Dany made a disgusted face and poked his nose. “I hate sprouts.”

“Grandmother says they’ll make you tall,” Jon reminded her.

Dany made a noise of disbelief and dropped back down against his side. It made his insides warm like a steaming bowl of porridge. He pressed his nose to her hair and inhaled the flowery soaps Rhaella liked to use.

“Being taller makes it harder to fit on a dragon,” Dany insisted. She’d told him that a hundred times over, but Jon was getting more suspicious of it. Afterall, dragons were _very_ big in Aegon’s books. “Being small is better.”

“I suppose it’s okay,” Jon said, glancing around at the size of his bed. “We can both fit in our beds if we’re small. And I won’t have to get a new sword if I stay small.”

“Did you pick a name for it yet?”

Jon shook his head. Everytime he tried to think up one, he couldn’t. What if he picked a name and then his mother and father started arguing over that one, too? Would Father rename his sword if he didn’t like what Jon picked?

“Obsidian is a fun name,” Dany said. She yawned and buried herself in the blankets beside him. “Egg says that’s another name for dragonglass, and that’s what’s on the end. Maybe you could name it that.”

“It sounds dark, like the night dreams.”

Dany hummed thoughtfully and hugged him. “Something brighter then, like dawn.”

Jon laughed. “That’s Ser Arthur’s sword. But Obsidian… it’s what’s coming. Like winter. Mama always says winter is coming.”

And she was right. Jon and Dany saw it in most of their dreams, the dark skies that never ended, the fading starlight. The only way to see was with fire. And by the eerie, moon-like glow of them, the icy ones…

“I’m gonna name it Obsidian.”

“Okay.” Dany draped her arm over his middle. “No bad dreams tonight?”

“No.” If they started the night together, they usually got to sleep peacefully. “Night, Dany.”

“Night, Jon.”

* * *

From the moment that Jon woke the next morning, he was angry. Dany was taken from his room and whisked off to whatever had been planned for her day. Jon was bathed and stuffed into his nicer clothes, then escorted up to the Maester’s chambers for his lessons. To his further annoyance, Dany wasn’t there like usual. Aegon was, though, and he was already scribbling away on some parchment.

“Jon, we’re doing sums!”

Aegon grinned at him, and Jon smiled, too. At least until he saw who else was joining them. Grandmother was there, which wasn’t uncommon. She liked to make sure he and Dany were staying focused. But beside Maester Cressen’s wizen old face was Father, frowning like a thunder cloud.

“Jaehaerys, good morning.” Father tried to smile and only deepened his frown. “Maester Cressen tells me you’ve been advancing proficiently at sums since my last visit.”

From her seat slightly behind Rhaegar, Grandmother shook her head at Jon. A warning and a plea.

“I like the numbers,” Jon muttered, taking his seat next to his brother. Rhaenys wasn’t here either. “Aren’t Rhae and Dany doing sums, too?”

Father’s frown didn’t move. “Your sister and Daenerys are with the septa today, practicing their needlework.”

Aegon’s eyes twinkled when Jon glanced at him. Something about Rhaenys being forced to sit and stitch was only too amusing to imagine. 

Maester Cressen presented Jon with his own parchment and quill. “We’ll start with these same problems Prince Aegon is doing. Try them on your own first, then we’ll work together to make sure you understand.”

He was too tense to focus as Father hovered nearby, though Jon scribbled some answers just to appease Maester Cressen. With his father here, he’d rather be anywhere else. But Rhaegar didn’t seem to notice. Jon scowled as his father approached to examine his answers.

“That was quick,” Rhaegar said, kneeling down to check Jon’s work. For a moment, Jon thought he’d won a rare smile, but his father’s mouth turned even more downward. “Jaehaerys, these answers aren’t related to the problems in the slightest. Here, you need to—”

“I hate sums,” Jon told him, and he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. Beside him, Aegon’s hand paused, his face pinched in worry. “Swords are better.”

“Jaehaerys—”

“I’m _not_ —”

Grandmother’s hands squeezed both of his shoulders from behind. He looked up and found her standing over him. “Jon, you can practice swordplay this afternoon. And you don’t hate sums. You run circles around Dany when you do these.”

His father stared at him for a long moment that made Jon want to squirm in his seat.

“Aegon, keep at your sums,” Rhaegar finally said. “Jaehaerys, let’s work on some history instead.”

He was led by the hand across the tower, to the old worn armchair beside the only window. Some nights, when the stars were particularly bright, Maester Cressen would have him and Dany and Viserys up to look at the clear skies through his Myrish lens tube. Rhaegar scooped up a book and took a seat, and Jon was lifted onto his lap. His father _had_ picked a beautiful old book. It was one both he and Dany loved to flip through, though they both still struggled to read it on their own.

“ _Valyria to Dragonstone: Rise of an Empire,_ ” Rhaegar read from the cover. Jon shifted in his lap, quite aware of his grandmother’s gaze and his father’s stiff posture. “Have you learned of Daenys the Dreamer yet?”

“Grandmother said she saved us,” Jon muttered.

“Her dreams foresaw the Doom of Valyria, yes.”

That perked Jon’s interest as it always did. Daenys was the main reason they kept trying to read the book Father had set before him now.

“Her dreams were true, too?”

Jon couldn’t see Rhaegar’s frown, but he felt it all the same behind him. That gloominess, the weight like a shadow that alway seemed to hover near his father. He hated that feeling.

“Daenys’s dreams were a rare occurrence,” Father told him. “Most dreams are just that, dreams.”

Jon scowled and crossed his arms. Father never believed him.

Rhaegar was off then, turning to the first page, reading aloud to Jon, trying to get him to read passages, but Jon didn’t know most of the words on those pages. He wasn’t about to tell Rhaegar that. Learning to read it with Dany in the solitude of one of their chambers, with no worries of embarrassment or corrections, was fun. Some nights, Mama would sit with him and teach him, too. Very little about his father was fun.

“See here, Jaehaerys, Archmaester Jycksen drew what the Doom might have looked like when it occurred, to his best estimations. It was a _real_ event.”

“Okay.”

“Jaehaerys.” His father caught his chin and turned his face away from the window. “Are you paying attention?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Jon, it’s time to learn right now,” Rhaella said from her spot beside Aegon, but Jon wasn’t in the mood to listen.

“I want to go.”

Father shut the book. “This morning we’re studying, not playing at knights.”

“I don’t _want_ to be a knight.”

When he climbed from Rhaegar’s lap, his father caught his arm and stopped him before he could bolt for the door.

“No!”

“Jaehaerys, that’s enough. Sit down.”

But Jon wouldn’t. Not by that name, the one that always made Mama frown and wasn’t his. Aegon had stopped working to watch them struggle.

“Rhaegar, let me—”

“Mother, I can handle my own son.”

But his father’s momentary distraction was enough for Jon to break free of Rhaegar’s grip. He was out the door and down the stairs in a blink, bolting past Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold. Behind him, his father’s angry voice shouted for Jaehaerys, and Maester Cressen’s anguished words filled the gaps.

“My apologies, Your Grace, Prince Jo—he’s usually very attentive and hardworking.”

Jon didn’t stop running until he’d left Sea Dragon Tower behind, crossed through the gallery and the walls back to the garden. Without looking, he knew Ser Arthur had followed him. But the knight said nothing, not even when Jon pushed through the guard tower’s side door that left the castle behind. A sharp wind caught his doublet and hair as he stomped out onto the nearby cliffs. And he stayed there, taking a seat in the soggy grass, not caring if his clothes got muddy or ruined. 

Nobody he didn’t like would follow him out here beyond the main castle’s walls. 

It wasn’t long before he heard the gate open, and then the heavy approach of someone’s squelching footfalls in the muddy grass.

“A moment with my grandson, Ser Arthur.”

She dropped down beside him in a heap of skirts, not quite frowning, but definitely not smiling either.

“That was very rude, Jon,” Grandmother told him in her stern, but not really angry voice. “Your father took time out of his day to work with you and Aegon on your education.”

“No.”

“Jon—”

“He wanted to work with Aegon and Jaehaerys. Not me.” Jon grabbed up a fistful of mud and slung it off the cliffside to the rocks and sea below. “He doesn’t want me ever.”

Rhaella didn’t respond at once. Jon stewed in his anger, his lips curled and his face hot—until she sniffled. When he looked over, she was wiping her eyes. His chest caved in all at once.

“I’m sorry, Grandmother, I didn’t—”

“Come here, sweet one.” And then he was in her arms, muddy hands and clothes and all. “Don’t you ever think your father doesn’t love you, Jon. He does. Truly.”

He didn’t say anything, not even when she let him go.

“He wants you as much as he loves you, and I know, your royal name is not the one you’ve chosen. It’s not what you want,” Rhaella said, fixing his hair out of his eyes. “So much of being a prince or princess is about not having what you want, but about what’s best for others.”

“It’s _my_ name,” Jon reminded her, some of his anger returning. “Everyone else gets to have their names. Dany and Egg and Rhae all get _two_! Why can’t I have my one?”

She gave him a watery smile and a little laugh, then kissed his cheek. “You and Daenerys… you’re not our little babies anymore, are you?”

Jon scowled. “I’m _not_ a baby.”

That seemed to amuse her as much as it saddened her. Rhaella hugged him once more. 

“I’ll speak with your father this evening, Jon, _but_ I want you to speak with him as well. Like a young prince. No running off or being rude since you aren’t a baby anymore, okay? I’m sure if you sit down with him and tell him why being Jon is so important to you, then he’ll understand. Your father isn’t an unreasonable man. And he _does_ love you.”

“He wants me to be like him and Egg.”

“He doesn’t, Jon.”

He didn’t believe her. How could he? All the things he did like, Rhaegar didn’t want to talk to him about; it was always history and books and stuff Aegon liked lots.

“Grandmother?”

Jon slid off her lap quickly as his brother came out of the gate, Ser Gerold behind him. 

“Is His Grace still with Maester Cressen?”

Ser Gerold nodded as Aegon joined Jon on the ground, close to the cliff edge, but a goods ways further back than Jon. Rhaella stood.

“I’ll go speak with your father, boys. Have them inside before it gets dark,” she told their guards, and then she was gone.

“You okay?”

Jon shrugged. Getting mad and running off from Rhaegar wasn’t something new for him. Most of his father’s quick visits ended similarly.

“I was thinking maybe if I told him I liked swords now, too, he might be more interested,” Aegon said, casting the cliff’s edge an uncertain look. “Everyone says he’s good with a sword back home. That’s why he beat Lord Robert on the Trident.”

“Just cause he’s good, doesn’t mean he likes it.”

“Father likes his books,” Aegon said quietly. “He reads and reads whenever he gets the time. They’re interesting stories and facts about all sorts of other places across the Narrow Sea, but it’s not for everyone.”

“I don’t _hate_ books,” Jon muttered. 

“I know.” Aegon slid a few inches closer to the cliff edge to peer over it. He leaned back very quickly. “I don’t hate swords, but Rhaenys hits _hard_. And all the boys in the Red Keep are a lot bigger than me. You make it fun.”

“It is fun. Reading’s fun, too. With you and Dany.”

“Good.” Aegon stood up. “We should go help Rhae and Dany escape before Balerion figures out where they are.”

Jon stood, too, and nodded. He was already in trouble afterall, and Dany would never forgive him if he left her stitching all day when they could go race their ponies.

“I bet if we’re quick we can get our ponies and come out here before they stop us.”

Aegon gave the cliff another uncertain look, but agreed. “You’re on.”

* * *

Rhaenys and Dany rained kisses all over them once they’d busted them out of the septa’s clutches. Her angry shouts followed them, but they were already gone. Convincing the master of horse to saddle their ponies was as simple as showing up at the stables. All afternoon they raced along the windswept cliffs, from the castle’s walls to the black soil of Dragonmont’s base. Jon was never more free than he was out here with Dany. Having Aegon and Rhaenys with them only made it better.

“I’ll beat you this time!”

Jon pulled off to the side as Dany and Rhaenys galloped past, faster than him or Aegon by miles.

“We’re going to be in trouble, aren’t we?” Aegon asked, biting his lip in worry as their sister and Dany’s laughter faded on the wind. “With Father, I mean.”

“I will be,” Jon said, and he didn’t elaborate further. Aegon, he had no doubt, would be fine. “Don’t worry so much.”

Aegon nodded and tried, but he sucked his bottom lip as the girls raced back toward them, Dany in the lead, and then all the way back up to the castle’s boundaries. Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn escorted them most of the way. Jon had seen them along the horizon. Always close, but at a distance so they might all have some fun.

At the eastern gate, their mothers were waiting. Even from a ways out, Jon could see each of them distinctly. Rhaella’s pale hair against the dark stone; Elia’s golden orange dress pacing to her left; his own mother’s blue and gray, arms at angles with her hips.

“Uh oh.”

Rhaenys pulled up, eyeing the waiting trio warily. 

“I don’t wanna get in _trouble_ ,” Aegon said in anguish. He looked ready to cry.

Dany chewed on the ends of her hair for a moment and shrugged. “It’s okay. Mama won’t do anything too bad.”

Jon nodded in agreement. His mother could be angry and hard on him sometimes, but she was usually fair.

“I’m already in trouble,” Rhaenys muttered, kicking her pony into a trot. “More isn’t gonna be fun.”

And it definitely wasn’t. All three of their mothers started in on them as soon as they were in earshot. Jon could hardly understand them, talking all over one another as they were, but he protested quite a bit when he was pulled from his pony and taken off to his chambers by Lyanna.

“Running out on your father, dumping a whole sack of _flour_ on Septa Germyne to sneak Daenerys and Rhaenys out on your wild little horse race.”

“Ponies,” Jon corrected, giving her his best innocent face as she glared down at him. “We’re too little for horses.”

“Jon, I am serious right now. You’re on thin ice with your behavior of late and—don’t you giggle at me!”

But he couldn’t help it. Her cheeks were redder than a ruby, and after a moment of his giggles, a smile fought its way onto her face, too.

“Don’t you laugh at me, I’m angry with you!”

But he couldn’t help it, and neither could she in the face of his laughter. Before long they were both clutching their tummies beside the hearth in his chambers.

“You’re a silly boy,” Mama said, scooping him into her lap. Abruptly, her laughter stopped. “Jon, you know how you acted was wrong.”

His own smile dropped. Jon crossed his arms and tried to squirm away from her.

“ _Jon._ ”

“Why can’t he call me that?”

His mother sighed sadly, but there was a glint of anger in her stormcloud eyes. “Your grandmother is speaking with him right now, love. But I think it’s time that _you_ asked him that yourself.”

And there was something more to her words than simple suggestion. A hint of steel perhaps, not unlike his new sword. As if she’d asked the very same of Father, and hadn’t gotten any good answers.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said, before he could think more of it. “Grandmother will be here once the king’s ready to speak with you.”

Her voice shook just slightly, and Jon couldn’t say why. Perhaps he was in real trouble with Father this time. Maybe he’d lose Obsidian for being naughty. Or maybe he wouldn’t be allowed to train as much as he did now. Whatever it was wouldn’t be so bad. When Father left, his punishment would be over, too.

She helped him change and clean his hands and face, comb his hair just enough so that he could wear his silver circlet. Rhaella arrived just as they finished, and gave him an approving nod.

“Very handsome, Jon.” Grandmother knelt before him, smiling in that odd sad way she had. “Your father is waiting for you at the Painted Table.”

It seemed an odd place to meet, but Father liked history, and there was nowhere more historical on Dragonstone than that room. Mama and Rhaella stayed behind, Ser Arthur his escort across the castle to the top of the Stone Drum. Being without them was an odd experience. So much of his life was defined by their presence, and Dany’s, too.

For once, the Painted Table was bathed in warmth and light. Candles had been brought in and lit all along the walls, the setting sun cast a ruby-orange glow over the crevasses and carved mountains of the table. All three of the dragon eggs were glowing in the heat.

“Thank you, Ser Arthur.”

Jon’s guard bowed once and departed. He stood there, lingering down by the dragon eggs and the Wall, watching his father pace around Dorne to Casterly Rock.

“Do you know who commissioned this table?”

“Commoned?”

“Commissioned,” Father corrected, still not glancing at him. “It means someone ordered it made by a person with the skills to create it.”

“Oh.” Jon considered what he did know. “The Conqueror did, so he could rule all of it.”

For once, Rhaegar’s mouth turned upward. A soft, quick smile; one that never lasted long when Jon was around, but a rush of joy filled Jon all the same. He liked it when Father smiled at him. When Father liked what he said or did, the way he always liked what Dany did, and now Rhaenys and Aegon, too.

“Yes, Aegon the Conqueror. Your brother, Prince Aegon, was named in his honor, as were many other Targaryen kings before him. Do you know who you were named for?”

Jon scowled and ran a hand over the green and bronze egg, felt that faint warmth within that Dany always said was there. He’d never doubted her on it, though he rarely felt it himself. This time, Jon took some strength from it.

“Your Hand,” Jon said, before Rhaegar could supply his own answer. “Lord Jon Arryn, and I’m Prince Jon of House Targaryen.”

Rhaegar sighed, took a seat at the great chair that marked Dragonstone’s location and pressed his forehead into his hand.

“Jaehaerys—”

“I’m _not_.” And he did his best not to yell it, which was so much easier to do. “I’m Jon. Mama named me Jon, so that’s my name. You should call me Jon.”

Only silence greeted him. Jon moved away from the eggs, let his fingers run the length of the Wall and then down, down into the mountains of the North, the little plumes like tiny clouds that was meant to be the wolfswood, all the way to Winterfell. It was the only way he’d ever seen his mother’s home. In truth, the Painted Table was the only way he’d ever seen any part of the world besides Dragonstone.

“Jae—Jon,” Father said, and for just a moment, a clear shining moment, Jon was happy near him. “It’s time we discuss your future, son. About your life now that you’re six.”

“I’m not a baby anymore,” Jon told him proudly, and he smiled happily as Father nodded, but more so at the use of his name. “I’ll be a man grown soon.”

Father nodded. “Yes, you will. Ten years will pass before I can blink, which is why it’s time for you to leave Dragonstone, to step out into the realm as a Targaryen prince. It’s very important everyone understands you as such.”

Jon stared at him, confused. He looked down at the Painted Table as Father stood and came nearer. 

“Leave?”

“For a time, yes.” Father pointed out King’s Landing. “Do you know what this is?”

Jon told him and won another approving nod and faint smile.

“King’s Landing is where our family rules. All of this is ours to protect,” Rhaegar told him, waving a hand at the gigantic table. “One day, gods willing, your brother will follow me as king, but you will always be a prince at his side. It will be your duty to serve Aegon in whatever way he requires. With a castle of your own and people to lead, or as an advisor, or a commander. It’s why you must go north soon. Your uncle, Lord Stark, has agreed to welcome you and your mother as family and guests of the crown.”

Jon was certain a volcano had gone off in his stomach. He bounced on his feet, pointing at Winterfell’s little carved castle on the table.

“I get to go here? Where Mama was little?”

Father smiled again and seemed surprised, but pleased, at his reaction. “Yes, for a while you’ll stay in the North.”

“And I’ll get to see a real godswood? And the Wall and the wolves and—”

“Yes, I’m certain Lord Stark will make a point of showing you the North properly while you’re under his care.”

Jon beamed up at him. “When do we leave? Does Mama already know? She’s gonna be so happy, and Dany, too! We’ve never seen real snow before, but she _really_ wants to touch it. I’ve gotta go tell her—”

“Princess Daenerys won’t be going to Winterfell.”

He was a few steps from the door when Rhaegar’s words hit him. Jon froze, and suddenly he wasn’t sure he had a stomach at all. When he turned back to Rhaegar, it was the frown he’d learned to expect instead of the rare smiles he’d just had.

“But Dany—we’re together,” Jon told him, unable to explain it any other way. “Always. We’re together.”

“You’ll see each other again,” Rhaegar told him. “Some time at Winterfell, then some time here, or perhaps at court a few years from now.” When Jon didn’t nod or smile, he was quick to add, “I know you’ve grown accustomed to having Daenerys around, Jon. It’s partially my fault, having you both so isolated here, but—”

“No, Dany and I—we’re _together_ ,” Jon insisted. “In our dreams and the—the ice winds, we _have_ to be.”

“Dreams are only dreams,” Rhaegar said, and he tried to kneel down to touch Jon’s shoulder, but Jon jerked away. “I once dreamt I was to be this great promised prince. It was for that very reason that I learned the sword, and then I thought it was my first son that was promised, and I was wrong. So terribly wrong, Jon. Sometimes dreams are just dreams. Prophecies are much the same. Daenys was right, yes, but she was one in a million, whatever else our blood has accomplished. You cannot live your life defined by dreams as I tried to do.”

“No! I won’t!” Jon’s eyes burned like Rhaenys had kicked dirt at his face, but he refused to cry. “I won’t go if Dany isn’t there, I won’t, I won’t!”

“ _Jaehaerys_ , that is enough. You are a prince and—”

He bolted, despite his promises to Mama and the trouble it would cause. Jon fled the Stone Drum, tried to make for the garden, but it was dark now so Ser Arthur stopped him and made him return to his chambers. Both Lyanna and Rhaella were waiting for him, anxious and fretful, and it was then, he understood.

“You knew!” Jon shouted as soon as Ser Arthur shut them all inside. “I won’t go! I won’t!”

“Jon, sweetheart—”

“No!”

“Let’s sit down and talk,” Rhaella suggested, but Jon wasn’t having that either.

He forced his way into the corridor, dodged Ser Arthur’s grab, and made for Dany’s rooms. Behind him, Lyanna told his knight to let him go. Dany was still awake, seated in a big chair on her balcony, reading an old book—or trying to.

“—when the… the gar-gos… no, the gar-boils? Oh, gargoyles!”

She was grinning proudly when she looked up. “Jon, I learned a new—why are you sad?”

He couldn’t quite explain it, tearful and so upset his stomach was like an angry horse trying to kick its way up his throat. Dany made him sit with her in her chair, and she hugged him without a word. For a long time, they sat in silence as Jon tried to get himself under control. She didn’t ask, knew him too well to push.

“He’s making me go away,” Jon finally said, wiping at his running nose and eyes. “To Winterfell.”

Her whole face lit up, and he was sure his insides vanished forever that time. “Winterfell? But that’ll be exciting! We’ll get to see snow!”

“Just me.” Jon’s throat was raw as he forced the next words out. “Not you. He’s making you stay here. Without me.”

Dany’s brows pulled together. Her lip trembled. “But… but we’re together. Just like always.”

Jon shook his head, and then it was his turn to hold Dany as she cried. And like she had, he didn’t say anything until she was ready to talk, until most of the tears went away.

“How will we know we’re both okay after our dreams?” she asked, and Jon didn’t have any answers.

Winterfell was just a carving on the Painted Table for him, but Mama had made the trip from there to here. It was a long ways away. Weeks and weeks of travel by boat and road. Not even a raven could make it that far in the same time it took one of them to run down the corridor here.

“I won’t go,” Jon told her. “I won’t. He’s a stupid. A big _mean_ stupid.”

For once, Dany didn’t disagree. 

Mama found them like that, cuddled up in the big chair on the balcony in the waning moonlight. Jon glared at her.

“You _knew_.”

“Jon, I only found out yesterday,” she told him, and he was glad to see she looked miserable. “Your father… he’s king, Jon. I tried to persuade him to allow Dany to come along, or make it a shorter trip to the North, but he’d already decided.”

“He should undecide then,” Jon snapped. Dany clutched him tighter and sniffled. “We’re together, Mama. _Always._ ”

Rhaella appeared behind her, just as miserable looking. “You’ll see one another again. We’ll make sure of it, loves.”

“How?” Jon demanded, and he glared at her, too. “You didn’t make him not do it this time.”

“Jon, don’t be rude to your grandmother.” 

Very gently, Lyanna peeled them apart. He went into her arms and Dany went to her mother’s embrace. For the first time ever, it didn’t make Jon feel better. The two women exchanged a few quiet words, and then Lyanna was carrying him back down the corridor to his room, away from Dany. 

Just like Father wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the pieces begin to move :(
> 
> Rhaegar is next, followed by Elia and then Dany? Probably. We'll be saying goodbye to Dragonstone in a few chapters as everyone starts on their new paths in life. And we'll likely be doing some little time hops, too, but I've yet to decide where that first one will fall in the story.
> 
> Until next Tuesday, stay safe, much love! :D


	5. RHAEGAR I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar struggles with the future, important conversations are had, and Jon learns more about the name he's rejecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Tuesdayish, another update! (It's late Monday night for me, but yanno, time zones).
> 
> So Rhaegar's chance to live on the page... err, screen is her. Love him or hate him, here's our first venture into his head.
> 
> Enjoy!

“He’s inside?”

Ser Arthur nodded. “With Lady Lyanna, Your Grace.”

The title stung every time he heard it. From the depths of his mind, his old promise rung in his ears with each iteration.

_ “You’ll be a queen. My queen.” _

And sometimes, rare though they were, she was Queen Lyanna. Here on Dragonstone alone, and to most of those in the North. Yet, he’d already had a queen awaiting him in King’s Landing on the day that they’d wed. Elia who’d given him two darling children—a daughter and son he’d once thought the first of three to complete his mystical imaginings. His once beloved prophecy now little more than dust.

He’d been a foolish man. Believing in mystic arts and ancient words translated and altered a hundred times over since they’d been spoken. Yet it was part of his legacy, he’d convinced himself. As much his birthright as the crown now resting upon his head. Afterall, his grandfather had wed his parents, Rhaella and Aerys, for prophecy. The same one he’d let consume most of his life.

But prophecies were wrong. A fool’s errand, not a king’s philosophy.

Rhaegar knocked on his younger son’s bedchamber door, dread and anger clenching tight in his stomach. Nothing ever went right with Jaehaerys. From the moment Rhaegar had met him, the world had turned over. Even the boy’s name was an endless fight, one pushed by Lyanna and her stubborn insistence of calling him Jon after all these years.

_ “You should call me Jon.” _

And he had, when his son had made a point to ask. Assuming Lyanna was forcing the name on their son, and hearing Jon’s clear preference right from the boy’s mouth were very different things. But it was an ache and a dread, too. An old one now after six years, but an ache of rejection nonetheless. Of Rhaegar’s choice, of the Targaryen blood in his son’s veins. Jon’s legitimacy was already at risk, but a Targaryen name helped to hush the mutterings about his second marriage not being as true as the first.

“Jae—Jon?”

His son’s sitting room was empty, along with the bedchamber attached. Rhaegar’s heart froze, his feet carrying him to the balcony on instinct, but nothing was amiss. Jon’s bed was made. His little sword was on the dresser. A few books were scattered over the chair and low table. 

Rhaegar paused to examine them. A book of house banners and words, another of old stories meant for children at bedtime, and a third on Targaryen history. He recognized it at once, a book from his own childhood, one he’d gifted Jon on his last name day. It was a day Rhaegar found difficult to forget. For the first time, his son had not been excited to see him. Turning five had brought a change to Jon a year ago, an awareness that grew in leaps and bounds with each short visit. His son wasn’t simply seeing their fights or brooding silences anymore, but understanding what they meant. 

_ It’s our hands causing this, not Jon’s. Lyanna insistent on one name, myself on another, and him stuck between us, forced to choose. _

And he tried to remember that, though it grew harder as Jon understood more and more of their falling out. Lyanna rejected him at every turn and had for years now. Ever since King’s Landing, he was her king in name only. She could be as cold as the home she’d left for him, unyielding and stubborn and unforgiving of his mistakes. Six years on, her endless rejections still stung. No amount of his time nor efforts to reconcile them had worked.

Now Jon was learning the same, favoring his mother who constantly adored him over the father he rarely saw.

It had to change, but ripping Jon from his mother now…

_ He’d never forgive me, though he’s already learning not to as Lyanna does. _

Rhaegar took another lap of Jon’s chambers. Everything was exactly where it ought to be, all except his wild and wonderful little son.

“Jon?”

Rhaegar was certain Lyanna would not have left him alone in such a state of distress. Nor would Ser Arthur let him run off on his own this late—if ever. When he turned around, Ser Arthur was on the inside of the door with him, solemn and expressionless. He nodded quietly toward a door behind Rhaegar.

“The bathing chamber?”

It wasn’t a bathing chamber, but a short, dim corridor that brought him into another sitting room. Lyanna’s. He rarely spent time here, but he recognized his second wife’s touches nevertheless. A parched vase of winter roses, a pale cloak emblazoned with the Stark sigil, snarling wolf glaring darkly at him. She wasn’t in sight, nor was Jon. Behind him Ser Arthur gave another nod toward the open bedchamber door, then retreated back to Jon’s chambers.

“I  _ won’t! _ ”

His son’s furious voice echoed from the bedchamber. Rhaegar crept closer, and for once he hesitated to interrupt. 

He saw them both so little. Less than he wished, but being king--a fair, decent king--meant dedicating his time to the realm more than himself. Dragonstone was closer than Winterfell, but it still required a journey there and back. All those years of obsessing over prophecy and three dragon heads had meant he’d neglected the one stitched to his chest. His obsessions had set him back, his choices in Robert’s Uprising adding more complications than he’d anticipated at the time.

Politics had made most of his decisions since Jon’s birth. Separating his wives to different locations to ease tensions across the realm; keeping his children from one another for six years; making a point to travel the southron kingdoms with Elia and Rhaenys and Aegon so the people understood who would succeed him. That his second wife and son, the ones most whispered he’d begun a war for, did not take precedence over the first. 

Going into their talk this evening, he’d known Jon would be upset. Half the time, he was convinced his son despised him.

_ And for ample reason. I’ve all but abandoned them to the shadows to keep the realm from further war. _

It shamed him more than he cared to admit, how the thought of them made his guts twist like angry snakes ready to strike. Lyanna loathed him now, and why shouldn’t she when he’d placed prophecy over truth, over her—over the realm? 

Worse, Jon was learning the same at her skirts. Having his life changed now from all he’d known was bound to cause issues. That was unavoidable. But it was inevitable, too. Enough time had passed, the horrors of war had begun to fade. New crops had been planted, new babes born, new lords and ladies rising to take their deceased relatives’ places. Introducing Prince Jaehaerys quietly would be far easier now that the realm was more stable. And with his unhealthy attachment to Daenerys…

Rhaegar hadn’t anticipated that either. Not to such a degree that Jon would risk his life, unknowingly or otherwise. So much of what had happened had been beyond his narrow line of thought. Guilt trickled into his chest, for only a moment. 

_ I am king. I cannot second guess every decision I make. _

But when it came to his younger son, all he did was second guess himself.

He peered into Lyanna’s bedchamber, just in time to see her pick Jon up and settle him down on the bed at her side. They both laid down, though it took some coaxing. Jon was strong-willed, if nothing else.

“I’m so sorry, Jon, truly,” Lyanna said. “If I could bring Daenerys with us, I would.”

“We won’t go,” Jon insisted. “We’ll sneak back home when he leaves again. He always leaves.”

And Rhaegar felt those words like a hammer to his chest, but what choice did he have? All the realm had been in a furious state when his mistakes had come to light as he’d ascended the iron throne. Keeping Lyanna and their son in King’s Landing alongside Elia—right in front of all the court—would not have helped. Though sending them away hadn’t done much better. The south was placated, but his wife and son were not.

“It’s not that simple.” Though, she smiled slightly nonetheless. “Your father is king, Jon. His word is law. I know it’s a lot to understand, but we cannot disobey, however we truly feel about his decision. He wants what he thinks is best for you.”

“But—but…” Jon cast around for something, anything that might do. Rhaegar watched him sit up, frowning and thoughtful. He was a smart boy. Maester Cressen and Rhaella insisted on it, but whenever Rhaegar tried to nurture that now, Jon turned him away. “Grandmother is his mama.  _ She _ can tell him he’s being naughty and—”

But Lyanna was already shaking her hand. “He’s not a little boy anymore, Jon. She can’t make him do anything.”

And that had been true for so long now. He was king, and that meant something. His power was absolute in Westeros. His family went where he commanded, to do what was best for the realm. Mother could no longer make him do what she said or wanted. Now, she was meant to do that for him, though that hadn’t stopped her from indulging Jon and his little sister in their dreams. 

All of it was true, and he could not look away from it. Not again like he had seven years ago. Running off on a wild, prophecy-driven whim had been unbecoming as a prince. As a king, another misstep of that magnitude would be his undoing. If not for Ser Jaime Lannister, all of King’s Landing would have been left in charred ruins from Aerys’s caches of wildfire, from Rhaegar’s own misguided indifference while he’d focused on a prophecy never meant to be. Ser Jaime was another silent regret. One sent to the Wall for killing a king. Leaving him on the kingsguard would never have done, not even in the face of Lord Tywin. How could he trust the sword of the man who had killed his father, the last king?

Every one of those mistakes was his burden now. His fear and his shame; fallen trees always blocking his path forward.

How did one become a good king when they’d almost destroyed the realm for a dream?

On Lyanna’s bed, Jon settled once more on his side, allowing his mother to sweep him into a big hug.

“We’ll still have fun, I promise,” she told him, so quiet Rhaegar almost didn’t hear her. They cuddled together on the bed, something Rhaegar had not been able to do with him since he was small. With Rhaenys or Aegon it was simple, but never with Jon. “Just think of all you’ll get to see. All the things you’ll get to tell Dany about when we return.”

“When’s that?”

And his wife hesitated. “Winterfell is beautiful, Jon. All the moors and forests, the heart tree. You’ll get to meet your cousins and uncles, hold the new baby when it’s born.”

“But when do I get to see Dany?”

This time she answered. “I’m not sure yet, Jon. I’ll talk to your father and find out, okay?”

“Make him let Dany go with us,” Jon mumbled. “Dany’s supposed to be  _ with _ us.”

“When the ice winds come, you mean?”

And Jon didn’t answer that, even as Rhaegar watched. He twisted his face into his mother’s chest and said no more. Every mention of their dreams as something serious made him nervous. How could either child settle into life if they were having these dreams reinforced daily? If their insistence to be side-by-side proved disastrous to all of them? 

_ How can their futures be safe if they remain so attached to one another? If that attachment matures into something more? _

They were only dreams. No more true than his foolish ideas had been for half his life. His ideas had almost destroyed their family and Westeros. What might Daenerys and Jon’s do a decade from now?

_ We cannot risk more of that; more of the foolishness that emboldened me. _

Rhaegar almost stepped fully into the bedchamber, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Soothing Jon was one thing, but allowing him to think these dreams were significant was damaging. Before long, he’d follow Rhaegar’s worst impulses and footsteps.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Westeros depended on House Targaryen being united as one.

Rhaegar turned back to Jon’s chambers, then on to the corridor beyond, Ser Gerold picking up with him there. He returned to the lord’s chambers, lost in his gloom as he could not help but be. Viserys was waiting for him, gangly and narrow-smiled and half as sullen as Rhaegar. 

“Viserys, what brings this visit?”

“When do we leave?” And Viserys at least was eager to set sail for King’s Landing and the realm. So unlike Jon, in almost every way. “I’m sick of sitting around with women and children.”

And it was that attitude, more than anything else that was forcing Rhaegar’s hand with his younger brother. He didn’t know where Viserys had picked up his views. Perhaps from Father, but Viserys had only been a little boy when Aerys had died. Not much older than Aegon was now. Ever since he’d been raised on Dragonstone by their mother.

“Those women and children are our family,” Rhaegar reminded him sternly. “They’re deserving of our attention and respect, Viserys. Mother is the only parent left to us. Your sister will someday grow to womanhood, your niece and nephews will be your equals as well.”

A petulant frown tugged at his brother’s thin face. His pale eyes went dark with disagreement. Rhaegar saw it all much more clearly than before, and it worried him. Not only for how it had occurred, but for what it may mean sending Viserys off to foster with Lord Tywin Lannister. 

_ I cannot undo it now. Not without insulting Lord Tywin further; not without bringing us another war. _

Tywin was always at the back of Rhaegar’s mind. It was the West’s lingering rumbles and silent threats that had kept them from making any sort of betrothal announcement at all. Another one of Elia’s ideas, when her vehement disagreement with his betrothal plans had gotten nowhere. They’d reached an accord for now to make no announcement instead. 

A knock on his door brought Mother into his solar as well.

“Viserys, there you are.”

His younger brother scowled. “Mother.”

Before Rhaegar could reprimand Viserys’s tone, Mother had him by the arm, gentle as a lamb.

“Darling, you need to start packing your things,” she told Viserys. “A prince cannot show up to King’s Landing or Casterly Rock with nothing to his name.”

That, at least, seemed to cow Viserys. He gave a quick bow to Rhaegar and departed. But Rhaella lingered, pacing slowly on the other side of his desk.

“Yes, Mother?”

“How is Jon?”

“I imagine you know better than I do since he ran off again.”

“He comes by that honest enough,” she retorted, unfazed by the anger and shame it stirred in him. “And I suppose it was a dream in which I saw you enter his rooms before returning here.” Rhaella stopped in front of his desk. “Separating them won’t change what’s already real, Rhaegar.”

“They’re dreams, not life.”

She pursed her lips. “That’s hardly what I meant. Don’t play a fool. You’ve never been good at pretending.”

“And neither have you proven decent at reinforcing the right ideas in Daenerys and Jaehaerys.”

“Jon,” she corrected. “His chosen name, whether you approve or not, is Jon. A prince’s decision ought to be respected. If you wish to disagree and fight with your wife, pick another arena.”

Her reprimand stung. He held her steely gaze for several moments before nodding, ashamed. “Yes, Jon was quite articulate about that point. And he…”

Rhaegar faltered. Jon had been so excited in those first moments after hearing he’d be off to Winterfell. That he’d get to go out into the world and see some of it. To walk the Winterfell godswood, to tour the North that Lyanna told him about endlessly, perhaps visit the Wall where old Maester Aemon still resided… so long as he had Daenerys with him.

“He longs for your approval, Rhaegar,” she told him gently. “Your love as well.”

“He’s always had it.”

“Have you told Jon that? Best I can tell, he thinks the exact opposite and not without just reason.”

Rhaegar swallowed and shook his head. Just another mistake. More and more that piled up deep enough to one day bury him.

“He knows,” Rhaegar insisted. “How could a father feel any other way for his son?”

“Plenty do. Your assumptions are worth as much as your silence.”

He shook his head once more, tried to side-step the blame and truth she was offering. Jon must know he was loved, by both his mother and father. Rhaegar wouldn’t have pushed for his name so much if he hadn’t loved him. What better way to protect his son’s status than with a Targaryen name? But they were so different, so distanced by his mistakes, and now, these dreams and Jon’s boundless fondness for Daenerys…

“I cannot risk him becoming what I’ve been, Mother.” His hand shook as he squeezed the back of his desk chair. “If he follows these dreams as truth. If he makes the same mistakes with Daenerys as I did with Lyanna…”

“Jon isn’t you. Neither is Dany,” she reminded him. “If you continue this course, he’ll hate you for it. Every bit of it will come back upon you if you cannot accept him as is instead of as the representation of some lost, foolish prophecy. That time is over, and the beliefs you held with it. Jon is here and real. Will you deny him a relationship with his father because you can still not forgive something he never did?”

“I don’t blame him.”

“You do,” Rhaella said forcefully. “By blaming yourself for being wrong about his birth, you punish him with your distance and shame. He senses it as he grows, even if he doesn’t understand it. He’s the son you made, not the fantasy you dreamt up. Gone are the days when you could sail here with a few gifts and a story and a night or two to earn his love. If you cannot choose him, even now, then he will decide for you.”

And that did silence him, in a way only Rhaella could. She’d known him all his life. Every moment, every book, every prophecy and letter to Maester Aemon upon the Wall… she’d been right beside him as it had consumed his life. All to lead to a dead end, a crown he’d not truly prepared himself for in his pointless quest.

“Speak with him, Rhaegar, before we all depart,” Rhaella said. “Not as a king, but as his father. He’s been without you most of his life, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be forever.”

“If he would simply—”

“What? Be less fond of his mother? Be less aware of the way you two fight and dislike one another--of his place between you both?” His mother shook her head. “How is he meant to embrace both halves when his parents cannot reconcile their own relationship? How can he love you when he does not know you?”

“I’m  _ trying _ ,” he snapped, and he loathed the tinge of a whine in his voice. “Sitting in on his lessons, trying to spend time with him when I’m here. Teaching him that life is more than just swordplay, that his head is just as important. A sword led me to victory, but it did not prepare me for the burdens waiting. Maester Cressen says he’s shown great promise already.”

“I seem to recall my own son not picking up a sword until he deemed it time for him to do so. And he went on to excel at it.” She sighed and shook her head. “He’s six, not sixteen, Rhaegar. He does not understand your intentions. All he sees is you showing up, fighting with his mother, and dismissing what he likes. And gods, his name. Is it any wonder he fights you about everything? Would you not have been the same if your father had called you Ryam every time he saw you as a boy instead of Rhaegar?”

And that shamed him far worse. Despite being grown and a king, his mother’s words still held so much power over him. Reduced him to a little boy seeking her approval and reassurance. It was a terrible feeling. One he’d thought himself past.

“The realm knows him as Prince Jaehaerys,” Rhaegar insisted, weak though his argument was. “The name Jaehaerys will give him—”

“The realm does not know him at all,” Rhaella snapped, and her pale eyes narrowed. “Of his existence, yes, but not a single lord has ever even seen him aside from Lord Velaryon. He’s as much a myth as your prophecies. A secret, as if he’s some great shame to hide. You send Lyanna and Jon here as little more than hostages to keep the North in line—”

“The North  _ is _ in line. Why else would I send Jon to foster there?” Rhaegar glared at her and she gave it right back. “Lord Stark and the other Northern houses were key to our victory over Lord Greyjoy’s attempted rebellion three moons ago. They aren’t hostages, not in any form now. Lord Stark has proven his loyalty.”

Rhaella gave him another long, searching look. “Jon needs you. He needs to understand and know you directly, if you and Lyanna cannot reconcile some form of respect and trust between yourselves.”

“He’s only six, Mother. You said so yourself.”

“Jon understands much more than you think, and he’s interpreting it in all the wrong ways. Sending him away…”

“It’s not a punishment,” Rhaegar said quietly. “Nor to hide him away. Lyanna and I… she wants to see her brother, I’m certain, even if she won’t tell me so. Lord Stark is anxious to see her, too. And Jon… I want him to have both, Mother. Our family and hers, to understand the North as well as Targaryen history and practices, just like Rhaenys and Aegon do with Dorne. How could I send her North without him? Neither of them would ever forgive me for that.”

“No, but Jon may not forgive you at all for what he sees as you not wanting him.”

“Of course I want him. He’s my son, my boy I risked so much for, however foolishly I did so.” Rhaegar couldn’t explain it further, all that twisted up inside him when it came to Jon. The need to protect him, more than his brother and sister. To try to bar him from all of Rhaegar’s own mistakes. Each of his children’s births had changed his life in some significant way. Rhaenys have meant venturing into fatherhood, Aegon a prophecy fulfilled, and Jon… 

Jon had been the end of so much, but a new beginning for the realm, too.

“I’ll do better by him, Mother.”

“You will. You  _ must. _ ” 

He settled into his stiff desk chair once she was gone. But being alone with his thoughts was hardly any better. Every step of his life in recent years was the wrong one. And now, he was continuing those meandering missteps without a clue of how to foresee what path he was on. He’d given up his mysticism for politics. Now he was trying to make sure his family did not make his mistakes and was failing them as a result.

_ Jon most of all. _

When someone else knocked, Rhaegar almost sent them away. But it was only Elia, slim and silent, her face a mask.

“Jon did not react well,” she said in greeting.

And she’d predicted it repeatedly, though she had the decency to state it as a fact instead of bragging.

“At first, he was excited,” Rhaegar confessed, knowing her ear and mind were his to lean on, if nothing else. “Until he realized…”

“That Daenerys would not be joining him,” Elia finished. She took a careful walk around the room, pausing to examine several paintings and books. “He loves her dearly, as she does him.”

“Love is a strong word,” Rhaegar insisted, flinching just a fraction when she looked at him, eyes hard as onyx. “They’re children. They’ve had little exposure to others. Love is…”

“Complicated,” Elia ventured. “However, I’ve seen enough to be convinced of their feelings. Betrothing Daenerys and Aegon…”

Rhaegar sighed. “We’ve discussed this already. Restoring my family’s long standing tradition—”

“Will weaken the crown and do very little to protect Aegon’s reign, especially if you do not live to a ripe old age,” Elia snapped. “I understand why it’s important to you, but it does nothing to strengthen Aegon’s position, nor yours. Perhaps Aegon’s son can restore that tradition one day, if it is safe to do so, but that is not his task. Lord Tywin is a threat now, however distant he seems.”

“Sending Viserys to him is a mistake,” Rhaegar muttered, sinking back into his chair. “I can see it already, with my brother’s attitude as its become. Why should I trust your judgment on our son’s future wife when you proposed Viserys fostering at Casterly Rock?”

She was steel before him, unyielding and bright. Sometimes her strength amazed him, no matter his words or power. Elia never backed down fully. 

“It was not the best idea,” Elia admitted, unashamed. “Had I known how much Viserys had changed since I last saw him as a boy, I would not have recommended it. But as I told you when I  _ did _ suggest it, this arrangement will not be enough to appease Tywin Lannister. Aerys promised you to his daughter then snubbed him with our marriage. You furthered that insult by sending his heir to the Wall. Another lord might overlook such things with the right offers or gifts, but Lord Tywin is more emotional than a toddler.”

“Ser Jaime was no longer his heir,” Rhaegar reminded her. “He swore his oaths to the kingsguard.”

“And stabbed his king in the back,” Elia countered. “Now he’s sworn to life to the Wall, something Tywin will never forgive. Whatever Ser Jaime’s oath, Lord Tywin still expected his firstborn son to succeed him. If not for the Lannisters stalling their forces until the war was already won, that decision would have started a new war. We’re lucky Balon Greyjoy is too foolish to ally with anyone, or his pitiful rebellion may have done just that.”

She was right, of course. Rhaegar had recognized that for weeks now. Elia had a way of seeing all the political hurricanes in King’s Landing and the realm at large in a way he could not. Having her by his side was perhaps the only wise course his father had ever taken, whatever his reasoning for it. If Lord Tywin  _ had _ arrived to the crown’s aid, Ser Jaime would still be among them or else back at Casterly Rock, his father’s heir once more.

_ Perhaps that alone is what he wants most, something I can never offer him. _

“There’s no easy answer,” Elia said as she took a seat across from him. “And even with a betrothal in Lord Tywin’s interest, it may not be enough. He has no heir.”

“Lord Tyrion—”

Elia rolled her eyes. “He will never name Tyrion, Rhaegar. No matter how capable he might be in that position, Lord Tywin sees only shame when he looks upon him. Even when he was a newborn, the way they treated him was terrible.”

She shook her head, and Rhaegar frowned. He’d heard parts of that tale from her. But he had no solution to offer for an heir to Casterly Rock, not when Lord Tywin had a living trueborn son.

“Regardless of his feelings, Lord Tyrion is his rightful heir. There’s no reason to look for solutions to a problem that does not exist.”

“There isn’t,” Elia agreed. “But we can offer Aegon’s hand to his granddaughter. Bring him more into our circle, have a better hand of his movements and decisions if she marries the crown prince. Give him  _ consequences _ should he rise up against us. He’s much less likely to threaten us with war if his only grandchild is set to be our next queen.”

Rhaegar nodded. “Storm’s End will need to be closer to the crown as is. Lord Stannis…”

He was a hard man, unforgiving and unyielding, but just overall. Thanks to him, the Stormlands had recovered well from the war, but they were not fond of Stannis Baratheon, less so when they’d all adored Robert instead. Adding the crown’s full weight behind Lord Stannis could stall any potential conflicts from the lesser lords.

All the politics made sense. He’d known that when they’d first discussed betrothal options a year ago, but still he hesitated. Even then, Rhaegar couldn’t explain why it felt so important to restore the Targaryen’s marriage lineage. Perhaps because he’d never had that chance, and the realm had fallen into chaos not long after. Perhaps, because he’d watched his own mother struggle with countless pregnancies to give him a sister his age to marry. Perhaps, because it had been so for decades, even with their dragons extinct from the world

_ That does not mean we are extinct as well. _

“It would be in his best interests as well, I cannot see him refusing.”

“Yes, but perhaps the girl—Myranda, is it?”

“Myrcella, I believe. She’s just past four.”

Rhaegar nodded. The age gap wasn’t substantial, but it left a few years open for difficulties to arise. “She’s closer to Jon’s age.”

And Elia outright laughed at that possibility. It wasn’t a cruel laugh, just one of derision directed at him.

“And give Lord Tywin incentive to turn brother against brother and remove Aegon?”

“No, of course not. Like it as not, he may attempt that with Viserys. We need to take great care in who we went with him to Casterly Rock.”

“Yes, we do, seeing what your brother is becoming,” Elia said. “Even setting that aside, most will not like Jon’s hand as an offering. They don’t say it aloud, no, but I see the whispers in their eyes whenever Jon is mentioned, Rhaegar. The beliefs they already hold of him.”

“He isn’t a bastard,” Rhaegar snapped. “He is my son. A Targaryen prince.”

“They will whisper it nonetheless, egged on by the way you’ve hidden him as if he’s your greatest shame. Though they all know full well hiding him was done to appease their outrage. Most southron lords will see a betrothal to him for their daughters as an insult until he proves himself to be otherwise.”

“Jon isn’t an insult.”

“I know, Rhaegar.” And though she frowned slightly, her voice was gentle. “I  _ know. _ Jon’s an innocent boy. None of this is any fault of his nor will it ever be. But we cannot change their views, not quickly at least, if at all. His prospects are slim. A lesser Northern house is the most likely. Perhaps the Riverlands, if Lord Stark’s lady wife can help in the persuasion.”

_ Or Daenerys to restore our traditions. _

She didn’t mention it, but Rhaegar wasn’t a complete fool. He knew her too well not to take the hint for what it was, that they might both have what they want, just not as anticipated. But he would not follow that point; not with their dreams as they were, controlling them, fuelling beliefs that could never be. He’d been wrong about himself, and wrong about Aegon and the three heads of the prophecy already.

_ I won’t be wrong again. _

“You’re right.” Rhaegar sighed but accepted what he’d already resigned himself to since their last conversation on the subject. “We’ll consider other betrothals for Aegon, one’s best for stability. I’ve known it for a while, but marrying outside of our family as I did brought so much conflict. Bonding them together feels less threatening. No lords being picked over another, no wounded pride or egos.”

Elia smiled sadly. “I know, but consolidating all of the crown’s power within the Targaryen line can make it much harder to ensure allies.”

“And much easier for another uprising to form.”

Robert Baratheon had shown him that. And Balon Greyjoy now, too. Not to mention the old scar across his chest from that first battle. Diplomacy was better than any sword, meant kinder lives for all of them.

“And Jon?”

“He’ll be in the North for a time. Perhaps not as long as I’d originally planned,” Rhaegar said. “Lord Stark can look into potential options for him amongst his lords. See who has daughters of a similar age.”

She didn’t frown, but he felt her disapproval like a cloud over him. “I was hoping, with Aegon and Rhaenys finally meeting him, they would see more of him. They’re very fond of their brother already. A fleeting meeting followed by years of renewed separation...”

The thought had crossed his mind since arriving and introducing the three. If Jon hadn’t run off, they might have discussed it further, made agreements and compromises--let Jon exercise his voice as a young prince. Instead, Jon had run off in anger once more, and it worried Rhaegar greatly how sweeping and swift his son’s fury could be.

A tiny knock hit his door. Aegon, he knew. So gentle and quiet, frightened of interrupting something important. Having Jon around would help his older son, too. Embolden him more; teach him to take charge without fear. And Jon could perhaps find wisdom in Aegon’s calmer nature. Rhaegar hurried to the door and found his older son peering up at him, sniffling and clutching the stuffed orange dragon doll Prince Doran had gifted him the year before.

“Father, I had a… a…” Aegon spotted Elia and with a wobbling chin, he rushed into his mother’s arms. 

“Shh, it’s fine, darling. A bad dream?”

Aegon sniffled some more and nodded, hugging her tightly as she stroked his hair and kissed his forehead.

“Dragonmont exploded,” he told them, face aghast. “And then it… it rained angry Balerions and they had swords and claws and kept hissing…”

Rhaegar scooped Aegon from her arms, settling him in his lap and hugging one arm around him. “Dragonmont would never give the world more Balerions. Your sister’s cat is one of a kind, son.”

“They were very angry, like he gets when we shut him away at night,” Aegon said, but he glanced at them both, a little less scared. “Father, what  _ does _ come out of volcanoes when they explode?”

“Erupt,” Rhaegar corrected gently, giving the stuffed dragon’s horn a little tug. “Volcanoes erupt molten earth and smoke. If it’s really powerful, it might even break up the rock and stone at it’s crown and scatter that on the lands nearby.”

Aegon’s squinted at him, uncertain but no longer so afraid. “Has Dragonmont ever done that?”

“Not a big one,” Rhaegar said. “It’s constantly releasing molten earth, so the pressure doesn’t build up to make a huge eruption.”

“Like in Valyria.”

“Yes, the Doom was catastrophic.” When Aegon frowned, Rhaegar gave his side a little tickle and smiled as his son giggled. “It’s back to bed for you, I think.”

They’d settled him back into his bed back in his chambers when Aegon spoke again, frowning up at him in a way that reminded Rhaegar very much of Jon.

“Are you really sending Jon away?”

Even Elia was surprised. “Who told you that, sweetheart?”

“I… I heard you talking before I knocked,” Aegon admitted. “I didn’t wanna interrupt.”

“Jon’s going to visit his mother’s family,” Elia told him. “Just like you go to see Uncle Oberyn and Uncle Doran and all your cousins.”

“So he’ll come back?”

“Yes,” Rhaegar assured him. “You’ll see Jon again.”

“I like Jon. He makes swords less scary than Rhaenys does.”

“Does he?” Rhaegar glanced at his first wife in surprise, but she was smiling. “You sparred with Jon?”

“He asked and said he wouldn’t knock me around like Rhaenys does to everyone. It was fun. Ser Arthur showed me lots of footsteps and how to hold it properly.”

“Ser Lewyn said he showed great promise,” Elia told him, smiling still. “I bet if you practice hard that you may give Jon as good as Rhaenys does when you see him again.”

“Jon would like that!” But Aegon’s smile turned quickly to a frown. “I won’t have Jon to practice with once he leaves, though, Mother. And everyone else…”

“We’ll find you someone to spar with,” Rhaegar assured him. “And Jon will be back in the south soon.”

“How soon?”

And Rhaegar hesitated. His plans had already been decided when they’d sailed for Dragonstone. To foster Jon at Winterfell until his tenth name day, to let Aegon and Daenerys meet before their likely betrothal, to send Viserys on his way to learn a man’s responsibilities before naming him Lord of Harrenhal. 

_ Little and less of that will happen now. _

Even Viserys’s future was questionable from what he’d seen this visit.

“Six moons or so,” Rhaegar promised him. “Jon will be back with us before you know it.”

Rhaegar kissed him goodnight, and headed back through the silent and dark castle toward Lyanna’s chambers. He could summon her instead, but he’d given her enough grief today with Jon. She answered when he knocked, more exhausted than angry. 

“I was hoping we could talk,” Rhaegar said. “Is Jon here?”

“Sleeping,” she told him, but her voice was soft as it was in his memories, not the harsh clipped tones he’d grown accustomed, too. 

“He’s had a trying day.”

That gave her pause, and Rhaegar wasn’t surprised. When was the last time he’d spoken to her as his wife, as Jon’s mother, instead of as a king to a subject? What else had been available to him with the chill she’d put up between them? 

_ How much of Jon’s dislike for me is because of the monster we’ve built between us? _

“I wanted to suggest a few changes to your journey, if you’re in agreement,” Rhaegar said. 

And her eyes almost lit up, much as they once had as they’d slipped south through the Riverlands and the Reach on into Dorne, careful and foolish and in a love so fleeting he should have known it was doomed.

“You’ll let Daenerys—”

“No, I want her in the capital,” Rhaegar said, and he tried not to grow angry at her scowl. It was so easy to get angry around Lyanna anymore. Half the time, his temper flared just from knowing they were sitting down to talk. They hadn't had a genial conversation since he’d left for the Trident. “But I thought, you and Jon might like to come south for part of the year. Join us in King’s Landing. It’s important he experiences the North, that you get to see your family, but I don’t want to isolate him either. It’s important he not loose sight of being a Targaryen, and right now…”

“He’s half Northern, too,” she rebuked, glaring. “More Northern than not these days without you here to show him what it means to be a Targaryen.”

“He’s been one of four Targaryens on this island for years,” Rhaegar snapped, and he regretted his tone at once, but didn’t back down either. “Maester Cressen teaches him our history, and I’m sure my mother does as well.”

She laughed coldly. “Oh, yes, and then the Targaryen who ought to mean the most to him comes to visit and treats him like an afterthought.”

“I do _ not _ . I spend what time I can spare—”

“Right, when you’re bored of court life.” Lyanna glowered at him, face burning. “Come visit him for a few moments of fun and laughs and leave me to deal with the fevers and tears and tantrums and the questions.”

“As if you would let me,” Rhaegar challenged and they both rose to their feet, furious and loud. “You hardly let me hold him that first year, for fu—”

“Stop it! Stop yelling! You’re bad!”

A pair of little fists smacked his hip, and Jon was suddenly there with them, just as red-faced and furious, angry tears shining in his eyes. Rhaegar’s anger dissolved at once.

“Jon, we were only talking—”

“No! You don’t yell at Mama, you  _ don’t! _ ”

His son hit him half a dozen more times before Lyanna stopped him. She was crying now, too, some of her anger gone as she pulled Jon to her.

“Love, we were having a… a difficult conversation, that’s all.”

One look at Jon’s face told Rhaegar how little he believed that, but Lyanna managed to calm him.

“There, it’s all right, don’t you cry, sweet wolf.”

Jon sniffled as she wiped his cheeks and eyes, but he glared at Rhaegar all the same.

“Jon, I—”

“You’re mean to Mama, and that’s bad.”

Lyanna glanced at him, then back to Jon. “Your father is a good man, Jon. And I know it’s hard to understand sometimes, how we fight with our words. But that’s no reason to dislike your father, understand?”

“He doesn’t like us.”

His wife looked away, her face fighting to keep her anguish hidden. Jon’s words weren’t unexpected, but they were a knife slipping into his guts all the same. Rhaegar took a slow, careful knee before Jon, and reached for him.

“Jon, that’s not true. You’re my little boy, just like Aegon.”

“You want me to be like Egg,” Jon insisted, he pulled away some as Rhaegar squeezed his tiny shoulder. “You want Jaehaerys, but I’m Jon.”

“I want you to be you,” Rhaegar said, and when Jon didn’t jerk away further, Rhaegar ran his hand through his wild springy curls. “I’ve never told you why I gave you that name, have I?”

Jon bit his lip, a sure sign he had no answer, but he didn’t yield and shake his head. “To… to make Mama mad ‘cause she named me Jon first.”

Rhaegar shook his head and drew Jon closer, just a few steps, but it seemed to do the trick. Lyanna released him and Rhaegar brought him into his arms. For a moment, he might have been two or three again, delighted with everything about his father, from his silvery hair to his once broken, now slightly crooked nose.

_ Those days are gone, he’s growing up. He needs my words and truth that I never gave his mother. _

“One of the greatest Targaryen kings was named Jaehaerys,” Rhaegar told him. “He was very wise. They called him the Conciliator.”

Jon frowned at the word. “Con-silly?”

“Conciliator,” Rhaegar repeated and he moved to sit on the armchair once more, sweeping Jon into his arms. “It means he was good at helping people with differences make peace. I gave you that name so that you might grow to be just as wise and kind and brave as he was.”

_ And far wiser than me if I can help it. _

“But Egg’s gonna be king,” Jon said uncertainly. “Not me.”

“It’s unlikely that you’ll rule,” Rhaegar agreed. “But a man can be wise and kind and true to his word without wearing a crown, Jon. Who you are isn’t defined by what’s on your head.”

And Jon seemed to think hard about that as Rhaegar exchanged a quick glance with Lyanna before carrying him back into the bedchamber and placing him on the great bed. He tucked his boy under the blankets. Relief filled him to have some part of the son he’d come to know back; to not be greeted by anger or tears. What he wouldn’t give to have his toddling little son again, to arrive in the courtyard to Jon wobbling his way toward him, beaming and laughing.

“I still like Jon more,” Jon finally said. 

“I know, and if it’s what you wish then I… I’ll call you Jon when its just family, okay?”

Jon’s whole face lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, but the realm knows you as Jaehaerys, Jon,” Rhaegar said and at once his son’s frown returned. He took a moment to figure out the best way to explain it. “That name’s important, too. Just in a different way. It protects you from others.”

“Protects me?”

“Yes, like a shield might.”

“Or a big curtain wall?” Jon perked up some at that. “Like Winterfell’s? It’s got  _ two! _ ”

“It does, that’s right. Have you learned how tall they are?”

His son thought for only a second before answering. “One is eighty and the other is twenty more than that.”

Rhaegar couldn’t help but smile at that. “Very good, you’ll be smarter than King Jaehaerys before you know it.”

“But words aren’t shields. They’re in here sometimes, and come out here.” Jon poked his head and then his lips. “They’re not wood or stone.”

“It’s a metaphor. Describing something by using a familiar thing. But Jaehaerys,” Rhaegar explained, “is a word shield. It makes sure everyone who meets you knows you’re a true Targaryen. That they… they can’t ever say you’re anything but a full Targaryen.”

He glimpsed Lyanna slipping into the room, watching them quietly, her brow furrowed. They’d never really spoken of it, all the obstacles facing their son, but he’d be a fool to think Lyanna didn’t recognize it.

“And Jon isn’t a shield?”

“No, but it’s a fine name,” Rhaegar told him, and he let another part of his dreams go with it. “As I understand it, your mother gave it to you the moment she first saw you.”

Jon nodded sagely. “She did. I’m her Jon, Father.”

Rhaegar swallowed and nodded, too. “You are. But you’ll need to be Jaehaerys sometimes, too.”

“But not with Dany. I’m her Jon, too.” Jon scowled at him, a glint of anger returning to his dark eyes. “Why can’t Dany come to Winterfell?”

“Right now, she needs to go to King’s Landing.”

“Then I can go with her,” Jon insisted. “When she doesn’t need to be there, we can go to Winterfell together. We’re supposed to be together where the cold is. It protects us like… like the word shield.”

Rhaegar almost refused him, but another fight was the last thing he wanted. “Jon, some day, perhaps, Dany can go see Winterfell, too. But this first time, you and your mother are going to go on your own. However,” and he made a point to hush Jon from another fit of yelling, “I think it would be better, if you got to visit all of us in King’s Landing. Aegon and Rhaenys and Daenerys, me and your grandmother, too. A few moons with your uncles and cousins, then a few moons down here or at court, how does that sound?”

“I…” Jon frowned, considering. “I’ll get to see Dany more?”

“You will,” Rhaegar told him, though his son’s endless obsession with his sister worried him even more with how persistent he was. “Jon, these dreams…”

“I think that’s enough for one night,” Lyanna said and she swooped in to give Jon several kisses and wish him a good night before leading Rhaegar back to the sitting room. “Don’t open a drawer who’s contents you aren’t prepared to handle.”

“These dreams are consuming our son,” he reminded her. “You’re as aware as I am of what a similar obsession did for me, Lyanna. Coddling these nightmares as some sort of premonitions or—”

“I don’t know what they are,” she snapped, glancing at the shut bedchamber door before lowering her voice. “Dreams, yes, but the same over over and over? The very same dream waking Daenerys each night? And the few mentions they’ve given us, that make any sense…”

Somehow, he knew where she was heading and didn’t want to hear further. That door was shut. Promised princes and heroes and a battle to save them all were wisps of fantasy. Not a king’s policy.

“They’re only dreams, Lyanna. He’ll outgrow them in time. Perhaps sooner than we think, once he and Daenerys spend some time apart.”

“He won’t,” she said simply. “He needs his father with him, and you won’t be there. I will. Just me, alone, again.”

She dismissed him with a glance, retreating into her bedchamber and shutting the door. Rhaegar almost followed, but he didn’t. He’d closed enough doors in his life to know there was no looking back. He lingered for a moment longer, then returned to his chambers, alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small note, Myrcella's age is not wrong, she's just the firstborn in this universe. No Joffrey to speak of at this point!
> 
> Next up is Elia, then Dany. Elia's will be next Tuesday, but I think the week after that will be a week off. Give me a slight break from losing sleep over churning out chapters.
> 
> Until next time, stay safe!


	6. ELIA I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elia loves her kids, Dany learns her future, and Elia and Lyanna have a short chat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit later than usual, but it's still Tuesday evening here, so it is another Tuesday update!
> 
> Taking a break next week, so next time it'll be lil Dany around August 11th!
> 
> Enjoy!

Two days passed after Rhaegar’s disastrous conversation with Jon before he moved on to Daenerys. 

Elia knew it would happen the moment she woke, sunlight warming her face despite the chill and gloom of Dragonstone. She’d spent most of their early marriage on the island. Cold and wrapped in thick cloaks, in woolen dresses that left her daydreaming of Dorne’s blistering heat or even King’s Landing warm red stone. As a babe, the wet climate had given Rhaenys an endless chill, and Aegon had much preferred to be cradled in her arms before a roaring fire.

Yet neither of her little sweets were in her chambers that morning. It was nice to have a momentary reprieve, but it was an answer in and of itself for the day’s activities, too.

_ Daenerys will be crushed, though at least she’ll have Rhaenys and Aegon with her.  _

She found both her children with the king, listening quietly as he spoke to them from his desk. Rhaenys’s feet fidgeted, but she’d learned enough self-control to sit and listen whenever Rhaegar summoned her to his chambers. Elia watched from the doorway, pleased at the sight, but saddened by it, too.

So much of instilling a princess’s place into her daughter meant forcing her nature into the background. And Aegon…

Next to his sister, her little prince was an admirable display of attention. He sat up straight and tall, entirely focused on his father’s words as he told them what today would bring. Someday, he would make a fine king who listened to his people. Aegon had that ability, even this young, and how she hoped it might flourish in the years ahead. But so many of her son’s other attributes worried her.

“... guide her once we’re in King’s Landing, you especially Rhaenys,” the king was telling them. “Daenerys has never experienced court life. I expect you both to help her and to make sure she’s not getting into trouble. Understood?”

“Yes, Father,” Aegon answered at once. 

He was always so eager to please Rhaegar, and he usually did. But the sight worried Elia, too. A prince eager for approval might find himself at the mercy of a great number of ill plans. Kings used to following and not leading often found themselves in dangerous tides. Beside him, Rhaenys’s attention had slipped. Her dark eyes were glazed and turned toward the fire.

“Rhaenys, is that understood?”

When she still didn’t answer, Aegon elbowed her, fretful and anxious. “ _ Rhae _ ,” he hissed.

Elia entered then, smiling down at both of them, her hands grasping both by their thin shoulders. 

“It is, Your Grace,” she answered for them. “We’ll do our very best to make sure Daenerys is welcomed in the Red Keep, won’t we, Rhaenys?”

Her daughter’s scowl surprised her. “Why’s Jon not coming with us?”

Rhaegar frowned. “Jon is going to visit his mother’s family in the North, Rhaenys. He’ll come south next year.”

Their daughter didn’t like that, but she only kicked at the desk corner instead of speaking her mind. Aegon gave her an anxious glance and kept quiet.

“Go on,” Rhaegar told them, then he yelped as Balerion leaped from the bookshelf behind his head and landed, hissing, on his shoulder. “Get off!”

Balerion’s claws tore Rhaegar’s surcoat as he leapt away, scurrying for the door, Rhaenys a step behind. Aegon went, too, with only a slight hesitation and backward glance at his father. Elia shut the door behind them, watching Rhaegar swear and pat his shoulder.

“One of these days, I’m going to catch that little monster and file his nails to nubs.”

Elia smiled. “You’d need an entire army to hold him down.”

Rhaegar dabbed at the bloody claw marks with a cloth, then tossed it onto his desk. “He was the sweetest thing as a kitten, do you remember? Used to sleep on my shoulder. Next time, we get her a horse.”

Elia laughed at that. “She’s nearly big enough. Another year or two, I won’t be surprised if she’s as tall as me. Ponies aren’t proper for a lady.”

That gave him pause. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “Hard to believe she’s nine already.”

“No ideas of  _ her _ betrothal yet?”

Rhaegar didn’t answer, but that was enough for her. Rhaenys’s marriage would be valuable to the crown, but not nearly as significant as Aegon’s. He’d mentioned it as a point in their futures with no real idea of facts or names. Elia couldn’t bring herself to offer any. Marriage meant Rhaenys would leave them, if not forever then for years at a time. She couldn’t stomach such a loss. Her little girl was her firstborn, her baby no matter how long her limbs grew or how expertly she wielded a spear or sword or words.

“It has to be perfect,” Rhaegar finally said. “I won’t hand her over to someone who might…”

_ Be a monster, a man like Aerys. _

It was a concern they both had. As much as Elia despised the thought, she knew there would be little she could do if such a man ended up married to Rhaenys. It was that, more than anything else, that had made her let Rhaenys practice as much as she wanted in the training yard. In Dorne, girls and women alike were allowed to carry a blade or spear. But in King’s Landing, it was frowned upon after a certain age; an age Rhaenys was fast approaching.

“Is there anything you require before I attend to the visiting lords?”

“No,” Elia told him. “Just wanted to find where they’d gotten to so early.” 

She found Aegon halfway down the next corridor, squatting as he stroked Balerion’s cheek. Further along, Rhaenys was snarling and fighting against Septa Germyne’s insistent herding. 

“It’s time for your lessons, Princess. We’re practicing a new stitch today with Princess Daenerys and your grand—”

“No, I want to spar with Jon!”

Elia stepped in, taking Rhaenys by the shoulder and pulling her free from the septa’s grip. 

“There will be plenty of time for stitching and lessons once Princess Daenerys joins us in King’s Landing,” Elia reminded Septa Germyne. “But only a few days for Rhaenys to spend with her brother before he travels north.”

The septa bowed respectfully and let her lead Rhaenys toward the garden, Aegon trailing after them with Balerion’s little collar jingling merrily with his little steps. Jon was already outside, scowling and smacking his practice sword against a child-sized straw dummy Ser Arthur had set up the day before. Ever since his talk with Rhaegar, Jon had been nearly as gloomy as his father. His anger worried Elia, but moreso where it may end up directed someday. From what she’d deduced, Rhaegar had not spoken to him since that night.

“Mother, can I—”

“Go on,” Elia told her daughter, and a moment later, Rhaenys was padding up to join Jon, beaming and teasing already. “Aegon, will you read with me or join your siblings?”

Aegon frowned, considering, then winced when Jon landed a particularly hard whack that echoed around the yard. Rhaenys simply laughed and gave it right back, but Aegon was not interested.

“Can I work with Maester Cressen instead, Mother? He said he’s got books on all the plants around the garden,” her son told her, smiling hopefully. “I want to learn  _ all _ of their names before we go home.”

“Ser Lewyn, escort Prince Aegon to the maester’s tower, please.”

Aegon grinned and hurried off with only a fleeting hug, but Elia was thankful for that much. Before long, she was certain she’d receive very little of such gestures. Seven and nine were still childhood, but close enough to the cusp of approaching adulthood. It wouldn’t be long before their mother’s hug would be synonymous with torture.

Elia watched Rhaenys and Jon dance about in the training yard, sweating already in the high sun. They were fine under Ser Arthur’s watchful eye, so Elia turned to take a lap of the garden. It was colder under the dense canopy, shafts of sunlight fighting their way through to the dewy grasses underfoot. Most of Aegon’s Garden was robust flowers and snarling dragon fountains carved of dark stone. But a wooden area lived in the back edges, perhaps an acknowledgment of what the island had been before men arrived on its shore; the last pocket of forest before the castle took shape.

She’d just turned to go back to the sunlight when a soft voice reached her through the trees.

“—safe and true, let no harm befall them.”

_ Lyanna. _

Elia froze, staring hard at the thick tree line, catching just a glimpse of bright blue fabric before hurrying back to the benches beside the training yard. She’d thought endlessly of the other woman since Rhaegar had vanished years before. Everyday, Lyanna Stark found a way into her thoughts. First as a phantom with claws and poison, intent on taking her husband, then as her very worst fears—a threat to her children. A threat who’d born a son to the king.

And now, after this visit, after hearing her words and meeting her son and seeing for herself just how much of a fool’s reality she’d created in her mind’s eyes, Elia was unsure. The other woman had been honest. Rhaella seemed to trust her and her intentions explicitly, and yet…

_ The other woman will always be a threat _ .

Or so Oberyn had insisted the first time Elia had seen him after Rhaegar was crowned. He’d arrived in King’s Landing in a rage, demanding answers and justice for her discarded honor. Even as children, her favorite brother had been rash and fierce. It had taken a great deal to calm Oberyn that night, and a number of grand gestures and agreements to soothe Doran still at Sunspear.

But Lyanna and Jon…

He was only a boy, one who was still growing and learning.

_ One who may yet grow into a threat, who will spend half his life out of sight, just the space needed to hatch devious plans. _

Elia swallowed and did her best to shake the thoughts aside. That was Oberyn talking, and Doran, too, and everything she’d been told as a girl about her future as a wife to a lord. To expect bastards and infidelity, to know they were kept out of sight elsewhere. They were treated better in Dorne, but the threat of their presence always lingered, most especially to a king or high lord. And at Rhaegar’s decisions, Jon’s upbringing would follow a similar path. Very few in the south had failed to note the common thread, but he was still only a boy.

Young, sweet, harmless.

But for how long, Elia could not say. Not with the world awaiting him, not with the wedge Rhaegar was already driving between them. How long would it take for his dislike of Rhaegar to turn upon Aegon? Or Rhaenys?

“Stop thinking like Doran,” she scolded herself under her breath. “It won’t happen.”

Across the yard, some of Jon’s gloom had given way to reluctant smiles when faced with Rhaenys’s confidence and laughter. Balerion had joined them, darting between their legs and batting at the dangling rope ends used to belt the padding around their middles.

“They’re a sight, aren’t they?” Lyanna had returned from her secluded corner of the garden, pale and tired-looking, but smiling as Balerion caught Jon’s rope and began tugging him toward the castle.

“Yes,” Elia agreed, and she couldn’t help but smile as Rhaenys intervened.

“Balerion, that’s bad! Jon can’t fight with  _ both _ of us.”

As the pair did their best to capture the cat, wooden swords suddenly tossed aside and forgotten, Elia considered her fellow wife. She’d been honest the other day, more so than anticipated. But to trust her? To place her faith in a woman who had married her husband and been out of sight since? That was harder to accept.

“Where are Rhaella and Daenerys this morning?” Elia asked instead, though she knew the answer.

“Meeting with the king,” Lyanna said, frowning. “He’s explaining to Dany that she’s joining you in King’s Landing.”

Elia nodded on instinct, still watching the children chase Balerion. He’d succeeded in pulling Jon’s rope belt free and was racing about with it now.

“She’ll do well at court.”

“I hope so.” And there it was again, that simple, undeniable honesty in Lyanna’s voice. The almost hollow desolation as if all the air had been knocked from her. “Daenerys deserves only the best. They all do.”

And that was true, a wish Elia held close to her own heart, and yet…

_ The other woman. _

But it was more than that now. Perhaps her perceptions of Lyanna had always been skewed in some matter. Even at Harrenhal all those years ago, she’d known something was changing. Rhaegar had been more quiet than usual on the journey home, distant, contemplating as always, but wild-eyed, too. A new zeal had captured him in the months that followed, and it had all culminated in his disappearance and Lyanna’s.

Even then, while the realm dissolved into chaos and war, Elia had known. That her husband had snuck off into the arms of another, that he’d not had the courage to tell her beforehand that he’d decided his third dragon head was still meant to be.

He’d told her nothing before disappearing, and though it wasn’t fully a lie, it was as bitter as any Elia had ever heard or told.

_ Rhaegar did the same to her, though. Half truths and deceptions, prioritizing the child she might give him over her own losses. _

And yet, and yet…

How did one trust the physical embodiment of where so much trust had been lost? Of the cause of all of her current heartaches and worries? 

Even Rhaegar was not free of that stain. His judgment in politics was a constant battle she raged, with soft redirects and suggestions, and, when needed, harsh truths he could not turn from in good faith. He wasn’t the worst politician, but he was still misguided, pushing with all his strength in one direction, and now the other in an attempt to overcorrect his mistakes.

Across the garden, Rhaenys and Balerion had disappeared into the castle, screaming and laughing as guards hurried to keep her in their sights. Jon was left in the training yard with Ser Arthur, shaking his dark head in bewilderment.

“Cats are weird,” she could hear him telling Ser Arthur. “Do they have more cats in King’s Landing?”

“Strays in the alleys, my prince, but Balerion is the only one allowed in Maegor’s holdfast.”

“What about dogs? Do they have those, too?”

“Not in the castle.”

“Why not?”

Each question reminded her of Aegon. He was full of them, too, endless lists and thoughts that sometimes startled her for how advanced they seemed for his age. Rhaenys had her questions, of course, but she was more like Jon. Simple questions, satisfied after a few short answers and then back to play.

“I don’t imagine Balerion would care much for a dog around,” Lyanna remarked. “Although I’m sure Jon would love it.”

“Aegon would, too. He keeps asking about the ones he can see down in the streets.” Elia smiled as her son came back into sight, a stack of thick books in his arms as he hobbled into the garden. “Animals are his favorite topic right now. Maester Pycelle has even given him his own ravens to tend to and study.”

Lyanna laughed at once. “Jon and Dany let the ravens here out a few months ago. They insisted it wasn’t fair to keep them in cages in a tower when there was a whole island for them to enjoy.”

Jon came over to them then, belting his real sword to his waist, though it hit the ground a few times before he managed it correctly.

“Mama, can I go play with Egg?”

“Sure, darling, he’s…” Lyanna trailed off, glancing at her.

“Learning the names of all the plants in the garden,” Elia told him. “I’m sure he’d love some help from someone who lives on Dragonstone.”

Jon offered them a real smile, and it was a relief to see after the recent bout of sullenness and anger. He scampered off to where Aegon had set his books. Her son was right in the middle of the garden, already on his belly, examining a large white rose.

“It’s a rose!” Jon dropped down beside him. “Mama has winter roses like it in our godswood. I’ll show you!”

They watched Jon race into the trees, Ser Arthur cursing under his breath and following. A minute later, Jon was back, a parched blue rose in hand. Compared to the white rose, it was quite small and shrivelled.

Aegon, however, was frowning at his books and then at the rose Jon offered him.

“Maester Cressen doesn’t have those listed for the garden,” Aegon muttered, flipping pages and slowly becoming upset by the winter rose’s absence. “But it’s here, so his books are  _ wrong _ .”

Before either herself or Lyanna could move to soothe his growing distress at the book’s inaccuracy, Jon was on his knees in the dirt beside him, calm as could be.

“He probably doesn’t know that Mama planted them,” Jon told him with an easy smile. “My uncle Ned sent them from Winterfell so she could have a piece of her home on Dragonstone.”

“Oh.” Aegon’s distress evaporated at once, and it was a stark difference to the way Rhaenys would have treated his overreaction. “They’re from the North?”

Jon nodded and offered his brother the flower once more. “They’re blue ‘cause of the cold.”

Aegon took it and examined the deep blue of the petals. Then he lifted it up high to eye the thorns on the stems.

“I think the cold would just hurt them,” Aegon said reasonably. “Maybe they’re blue because they soak up the sky.”

Her usual tension around her son dissolved as she watched the pair together. If it had been Rhaenys, Aegon would be in tears, stubborn and upset by her teasing or laughter. Elia almost always had to intervene in their fights, but not so with Jon. It was a pleasant change, a wonderful visage of brotherhood that reminded her very much of herself and Oberyn so many years before.

With Jon, it was so simple. He understood Aegon instantly, whether from a true, bone deep kindness or perhaps from being raised with gentleness in mind. It was not a trait admired by the lords and men in King’s Landing. Before long, Aegon would be confronted with hiding it in himself or eradicating it entirely, just the same as Jon.

“I’m glad they get along so well,” Lyanna told her. “That they got to meet while they’re young, to be brothers first before the realm enters their relationship.”

“Yes, I hope what they have now remains.”

A hesitant hand touched her arm as Lyanna sat down beside her. “It will. We’ll make sure, whatever the future holds, they don’t turn on one another. That they’re always _ , always _ , brothers of the best kind.”

Despite Oberyn’s nagging voice in her ear, Elia believed her. However foolish or damning it was, Elia trusted Rhaella’s judgment—and moreso, she trusted Lyanna’s love for her son. She nodded. So long as what remained in Jon’s best interest was also in Aegon’s, they would find themselves in agreement.

“He finally agreed to look into more productive betrothals,” Elia shared, and Lyanna’s mouth dropped open, her eyes lighting up. “That obstacle will be smaller now for Daenerys’s future.”

“It’s a step.” Lyanna cast her gaze over to their boys. Carefree and laughing as Jon stuck a bunch of leaves into his curls once they’d named each by the book’s drawings. “I almost wish his obsession with prophecy had survived his coronation. Half our problems would be solved then.”

“And a dozen more created,” Elia countered, though without any real heat. “He’d focus on little else and draw us ever closer to oblivion. That’s how he was before.”

“Yes, Rhaegar has a tendency for such things.”

From inside the castle, a commotion of noise headed for the garden. Elia had an idea of what it was, but she tensed nevertheless, waiting. 

“I won’t go, I stay with Jon! I go north, too!”

Daenerys’s little voice was louder than Elia had ever heard it. Within seconds, she was in the garden, red-faced and furious, eyes blazing like fire, searching for Jon as Elia had known she would. Rhaella and Ser Barristan were quick to follow.

Jon and Aegon’s fun had stopped as Dany rushed over and flung her arms around her favorite person. Aegon let them hug, stepping back over to Elia for comfort.

“Mother, what’s happened?”

Elia pulled him into her arms and soothed down his hair. “Your father told Daenerys she’s going to King’s Landing, love. That’s all.”

“And Jon’s not.” Aegon frowned and watched his brother and aunt. “Jon should come with us so Dany isn’t sad.”

And she was in clear distress, clutching Jon tight, whose face was impassive. As if he’d already known—as if Dany being left behind on Dragonstone was no different than being sent to King’s Landing. Either way they were separated. Right now, so young, that was all they really understood. 

Rhaella approached them, kneeling down to try to ease Dany away, but she refused her mother’s arms. Lyanna had to talk Rhaella into leaving them as they were for now.

“Let them grieve together,” Lyanna told her quietly, encouraging Rhaella to sit down with them. “They’ve so little time left as is.”

Rhaella shook her head. “Six moons, more like six centuries.”

“It will feel so for them,” Elia agreed as Aegon made his way onto her lap. She rocked him gently as he watched Jon and Dany. “We’ll find ways to distract her, won’t we, Aegon? New games and friends, lessons and court life.”

“Why doesn’t Jon get to come with us, too?”

And Elia didn’t have an answer for him, not even a redirection like when he’d asked how a baby had gotten into Lady Redwyne’s belly two moons ago. After six years, there was no real reason Jon couldn’t come to King’s Landing with them first. He’d be welcomed overall. Some would whisper, but most would be pleased to finally see the boy, whatever their intentions, to learn his habits and interests and what value he might have to them in the coming years. But Rhaegar had been resolute even before seeing Jon and Dany’s growing bond.

_ “He should know his mother’s home, the same as Rhaenys and Aegon know yours.” _

Or so he’d said, but Elia saw more to it knowing Rhaegar had meant a four year long stay instead of short vacations like Elia planned to Dorne. A hope of winning Lyanna’s gratitude perhaps. Or earning an amicable affection from her so they might have a relationship once more. Not love, Elia was certain. Lyana seemed entirely adverse to that, but a friendship as they raised their son, similar to her own relationship with the king.

_ Yet how can they when Lyanna’s raising him alone? _

And Jon was learning that, more and more each day. Elia saw it all unfolding and it was unnerving. She had no doubts Rhaegar loved him. But he did little to show it to Jon, made so many unintelligible decisions regarding Jon and Lyanna it was sure to come back upon them one day.

She wouldn’t allow that to happen, to force Rhaegar’s choices onto Aegon and Rhaenys. Those consequences were not theirs to bear. They weren’t Jon’s either.

“Jon will be in King’s Landing soon,” Elia told him, and she smiled as he snuggled up to her, still young and open to her love. “Then you and Dany and Rhaenys can teach him all of those same things.”

“Will he spar with me there?”

“I’m sure he will, love. That’s what brothers are for.”

* * *

She went to Lyanna’s chambers that evening, once Aegon and Rhaenys were asleep and the castle had gone quiet. The other woman was surprised to see her, but Lyanna let her into her sitting room. Already, the personal touches were being stripped away. Some in open trunks, others set in little boxes to be packed away in the castle.

“I apologize for the mess.”

“It’s fine,” Elia assured her. “Leaving home comes with a great number of messy tasks.”

Lyanna nodded and offered her a seat on the couch. “Is there something you need?”

Elia took a seat across from her, considering. Aegon and Jon were simple, and Jon and Rhaenys wild by adoring. She had no qualms the three could build true relationships in the years ahead--ones that might last a lifetime if they were so fortunate. But so much relied on Jon’s youth--on helping the boy navigate Rhaegar’s decisions.

“I hoped to offer some advice,” Elia began carefully. “With no intention of prying for details, Lyanna, but I know how Rhaegar can be.”

Her fellow wife tensed and shifted, her eyes turning away.

“Your relationship with him is none of my business, but…”

“No, it isn’t.” Lyanna’s voice and face sharpened, growing dark. “It is what it is.”

“Yes, I have no doubts. However, speaking as someone who is also his wife,” Elia said, though she knew the eggshells beneath her feet were quickly turning to glass shards. “It’s much easier to be amicable with him, at least for our children’s sake. For Jon’s.”

Lyanna went still, though her jaw tightened further. “Jon is fine.”

“He is,” Elia agreed. “For now. Rhaegar and Jon… it’s difficult to navigate for any child of a king, especially when his parents are so estranged. I doubt Rhaegar expects any sort of affection at all from either of us, but for Jon’s sake, I hope you and he can find a more positive view of one another.”

She received no answer, but the seed planted might be enough for now. Lyanna was young. Almost too young to be where she was in life now, which only complicated everything else further. Elia had seen enough to know how much Rhaegar and Lyanna’s palpable dislike was hurting their son. To fear how that anger and pain may someday be misdirected at her own children.

Elia was at the door when Lyanna’s voice stopped her.

“How did you forgive him?”

Angst was clear on Lyanna’s face when Elia turned back to her.

“I didn’t,” Elia said simply. “Or rather, I haven’t yet. Not fully, perhaps never completely, but Aegon and Rhaenys mean too much for me to let my bitterness towards Rhaegar command me. Whatever I feel for their father is not their burden. They come first, for myself and for Rhaegar. Just as Jon does for you and his father.”

Elia left her with those thoughts and her own hope. That somehow, the distance and the North might ease the anger in Lyanna and Jon; that in the coming months, she could work at Rhaegar to navigate him toward seeking a better path with Lyanna, too. Jon’s future self depended on them bettering their relationship, and that in turn, meant a better chance for Jon and Aegon and Rhaenys to be bonded.

_ Whatever it takes to protect Rhaenys and Aegon _ . _ I will not fail them. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've got our first wave of POVs done!
> 
> Or the first batch of the first wave. Aegon and Rhaenys will likely join the POV party later. And maybe a Stark or two as well. Still messing with all those puzzle pieces.
> 
> There will NOT be an update next week. I am taking a mini break from my speed writing, so Dany's second POV will be the Tuesday after next.
> 
> Until then, stay safe!


	7. DAENERYS II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A present is made, Jon and Dany part ways, and a new friend and home is discovered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crazy how two weeks can feel like a lifetime, isn't it? Thanks, pandemic. Seems like its been months away instead of -checks calendar- 13 days and 21 hours.
> 
> Anyway, we're back with a bit of a sad one as Jon and Dany say goodbye for now :(
> 
> But not forever! At least, not how us more adulty people define forevers.
> 
> Enjoy!

The worst day dawned bright and ashy. 

Dragonmont was louder than thunder when Dany woke, plumes of dark smoke growing into the robust clouds. Ash rained in the distance, a few flakes making it close enough to the fortress to dot her balcony. She could just see the glowing lava at its crown, sluggishly running down the sides.

Her Dragonstone was sad.

All the world would be different by sundown. Her daily views changed, her food strange, and her best friend would be gone. Even her room was so very different from how it had always been. No longer full of books and toys and clothes or the  _ herness _ of her life. Now every space was bare and blank. Instead a pair of trunks bigger than Rhaenys were set up by the door with Dany’s whole life inside. All except Jon and their eggs. Those were still with the big Painted Table, and Jon was going somewhere else.

Even now, Dany couldn’t really understand him being somewhere else always.

Some days, he did swordplay and she was with Septa Germyne. And other days, he was with his mother while she had her lessons. But their somewhere elses always became the same place before long. Not this time, though, according to her mother. This time the always that came after their somewhere elses would take a long time.

Rhaella came to help her dress, then made her sit on the bed so her hair could be brushed out and her little tiara put on. It was a beautiful one Rhaegar had brought from King’s Landing. Silver all over with little dragon wings and rubies on it.

“You’re a vision, sweetheart,” her mother said, kissing her brow. “I know you’re sad today, but just remember that sometimes sadness comes from good things. Like growing up or leaving the familiar behind to seeing the world. It’s sad to leave things behind, but life is not about sitting still.”

“Jon’s sad, too,” Dany told her. 

“I know, love, but you’ll see each other again soon.”

And Dany wanted to believe that with everything she had. Rhaegar had promised it to her just last night. He’d even called Jon by his best name. They were separate sometimes, but then she and Jon were together once more. Then they got to talk about everything they’d done when they weren’t together and that was always nice. But not seeing Jon at breakfast or dinner, or having lessons with him where they giggled while Maester Cressen talked; not seeing his silly missing teeth when he smiled at her when they woke up most mornings…

“Shh, I know, love. I do.” Rhaella pulled her into her lap in a big warm hug as she began to cry. “I’m going to miss our Jon, too.”

“Can’t he come with us?”

“He will, in time.” A handful of kisses were pressed to her hair. “Tell you what, my little dragon, what do you say we write letters to Jon while he’s away? I bet he’d love that.”

Dany nodded, wiggling her fingers at her mother. “I’m not so good at my letters yet.”

“We’ll practice then, lots and lots. Rhaenys makes very pretty letters,” Rhaella told her. “She can write letters to Jon, too. What do you say?”

“Okay, Mama.”

She gave Dany another kiss and left to go see to their breakfast arrangements. Dany swung her legs where they dangled off the side of the bed, then made a quick decision. Ser Barristan followed her from her chamber across the castle to the Painted Table. Jon was already there with Ser Arthur lingering beside the door. Like her, Jon was dressed in his finest clothes, his own silver circlet shining bright. He’d climbed right onto the table, laying on his stomach as he traced some of the lines around King’s Landing with his fingers.

“You’re gonna be here,” he said softly when she climbed up beside him. Jon pressed a finger to the bumps and hills of King’s Landing. “And I’ll be somewhere by my toes.”

Dany turned around to look and laughed. Jon’s toes were barely at Riverrun. She crawled down to them, and then beyond, all the way to Winterfell.

“Your toes don’t reach that far,” she told him. When he turned around, he nodded in agreement. Dany took a seat on Winterfell as he did the same at King’s Landing. “I wish the world was really as little as us. Then we could both go places and still sit like this.”

Jon stretched his legs out toward her, nudging her slippers with his boots.

“Father said I’ll get to come south soon,” he told her. “He promised it twice now. Even though him and Mama…”

“They fought again,” Dany finished. They were always fighting in a way no other grown ups ever did. She nudged his boot back. “When?”

“He said five or six moons,” Jon said, though he looked doubtful. “He called me Jon lots though.”

Dany tried to count how many days that might be in her head, but she got lost around twenty when Jon climbed down. He ducked under the table’s edge and reappeared with a great crown of blooming flowers in hand.

“I made this for you,” he told her. “Since I’m gonna miss your name day.”

It wasn’t the neatest, but neither was Jon. His work was a painstaking beauty, red and white roses with a few that were spotted with the other’s coloring. Even a few feet away Dany could smell their freshness. She ran her fingers over the soft petals when Jon held it out to her.

“I cut  _ all _ the thorns off,” Jon assured her, and he offered up his left hand that was littered with tiny cuts. “Mama helped some, but they’re all braided together. Reds and whites like a weirwood.”

“It’s wonderingful,” Dany said, and she lifted it up and dropped it on her head, giggling as it caught on her tiara and slid down to one side, only stopped by her ear. “My head’s too little.”

Jon blushed, an odd sight, ashe kicked his boot against the floor and shrugged. “I had to use Mama’s head ‘cause Rhae wouldn’t sit still for me.”

“I love it.” Dany hopped off the table and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “I’ll wear it always.”

“Mama said all the colors have meanings,” Jon said, and he frowned as he tried to remember. “The red-white ones are unity. And the white are for new, um, bagels? No, beginnings, I think. And the red—”

“Love and courage.”

Rhaella had found her at last, looking quite misty-eyed as she came over to them. She touched the flower crown very gently.

“You made this, Jon?”

He nodded proudly. “Mama let me use her head!”

And something else was in her mother’s question, a lingering worry and hope, but Dany didn’t know what to ask, so she didn’t. Mama gave Jon a big kiss, too, then Dany.

“Let’s get these bellies full before we depart,” she told them, and at once Dany’s tummy dropped like stones off the cliffs around the castle. “It’ll be just fine, loves.”

But Dany had her doubts, just as Jon did. In a few hours, she’d be on her very first ship and Jon would be on another. She was endlessly excited and endlessly miserable. 

“I’m gonna write you lots and lots of letters,” Dany told him. “So many you’re gonna have all the King’s Landing ravens at Winterfell, so you better send them back or everyone will be really upset.”

Jon grinned, though it wasn’t as bright as usual. “I’ll write back, I promise.”

* * *

After breakfast, they spent a lot more time sitting around than Dany had expected for such a big day. Her trunks were escorted out of the castle, and Mama’s, too, but it wasn’t time to go yet. Jon’s trunks were carried out next. Then his mother’s. Desperately bored, Dany and Jon retreated back to the Painted Table.

“Are they going to King’s Landing with you?”

Jon ran his hands over the eggs down by the tiny carving of the Wall.

“Mama said we could take them with us,” Dany told him, busy tracing all the roads in and around King’s Landing. “They’ll be sad here all alone.”

“That’s good. They like to be with you.”

She nodded in agreement, then glanced up as Ser Arthur opened the door. Rhaenys skipped in, looking as bored as they were.

“It’ll be time soon,” she told them wisely. “It  _ always _ takes half the day to go anywhere on a ship.”

“Where’s Egg?”

“Robbing the maester’s tower, if I had to guess,” Rhaenys told them. She eyed the three stone dragon eyes carefully. “He didn’t read all the books he wanted, so he’s determined to take all of them with us. Probably sink the ship. They’re looking for the trunk for the eggs, too. Father put a pair of guards on it.”

She poked the red and black, then Jon’s favorite, and gave the palest egg a tentative pat. It was the only time Dany ever saw Rhaenys hesitate. Both her and Egg had come to see them at Dany’s insistence, and while Aegon had been thrilled just to hold and examine them, Rhaenys had been oddly quiet.

“They can sleep with us instead of in some silly trunk,” Dany decided. She climbed up on the Painted Table and pulled her egg into her lap. “Being warm and safe is good.”

Jon grabbed his egg, too, but Rhaenys hesitated still, considering the cream and gold stone.

“You really think they’ll hatch some day?”

Her skepticism wasn’t unfamiliar, but Dany was certain.

“They’re gonna be big dragons,” Dany insisted. “Then they can blow fire all over like roooooar, and light up the night.”

Rhaenys scooped the third egg up and cradled it carefully. Balerion trotted into the room, mewling loudly as Rhaegar followed him.

“There you three are,” he said, half distracted as he tried to sidestep Balerion’s attempt to run through his legs. “We’ll just pack those away and be on our way.”

A pair of guards hobbled in, a large wooden chest carried between them. They set the chest down and opened it. While Rhaegar fought off Balerion’s demands for attention and pets, Rhaenys put the first egg in, then Dany followed, but she stopped Jon from depositing his.

“It should go with you,” Dany told him. “That one’s your dragon.” 

“They’re stone eggs,” Rhaegar reminded them all sternly, then he caught sight of Dany and her big flowery crown. “Daenerys, where did you get that?”

“Jon made it for my name day.”

“Your name day isn't for months,” Rhaegar reminded them. He plucked the flower crown off her head and examined it carefully. Something about it made him sad. 

“Jon won’t be with us,” Dany reminded him. “I’m gonna wear it always!”

“Flowers die eventually, Daenerys,” Rhaegar told her, but he set the flower crown on her head very carefully before turning to Jon. “You did a wonderful job making this, Jon.”

Jon gave an awkward nod, hugging the green and bronze egg. “Mama helped.”

Rhaegar stood, then scooped Balerion up, keeping him from climbing into the trunk with the eggs.

“You’re a naughty cat, you know that?”

Balerion meowed sweetly. Rhaegar passed the cat to Rhaenys then came back over to them. At once, Dany knew it was time. Her brother looked so tired and worried. She latched on to Jon’s arm and pressed her face to his shoulder.

“Your mother’s waiting downstairs,” Rhaegar told Jon gently. “We’ll ask her if it’s okay to take that egg with you. It’s time to say goodbye, okay?”

She expected Jon to scream and get mad, to hit Rhaegar or run off, but he didn’t. Jon nodded and hugged her tighter than he ever had before.

He sniffled in her ear. “I love you lots.”

Dany buried her face in his shoulder and inhaled. She tried to save that smell, woody and misty like the garden they spent so much time in, with just a hint of something soft and sweet. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’ll be back soon,” Jon told her. “Mama promised, too.”

And that gave Dany some relief, but right then, it didn’t matter much what was promised when he was leaving for five or six forevers. They broke apart, and Jon did something he didn’t normally do. He kissed her cheek, blushing all over again.

Rhaegar cleared his throat, and Dany didn’t understand the expression on his face, but it made her blush, too.

“Come along, Jon, you’ve got a long trip to Winterfell.”

Jon gave her a wave, hugged Rhaenys, who punched him gently in the side, then he and the green egg were gone. Dany waited, half expecting him to come running back in. To arrive with some silly idea or exciting news, or just to see her. Rhaenys hovered by the door as the chest of stone dragon eggs was carried out. Balerion tried to escape her arms to follow it, but she closed the door so he couldn’t.

_ Jon’ll come back. _

But her and Rhaenys sat out on the balcony facing the bay, watching a tiny boat row out to a much larger ship.

_ He’s gonna come back, running through the door. Any minute. _

But the great big ship left the bay, sailing away into the afternoon sun and then turning north. Dany rushed to the next balcony, peering out at the northern stretches of sea. The ship passed slowly by, north and east, then north and tiny. The smoky fog of Dragonmont swallowed it whole.

“Dany?”

Balerion’s collar jingled as Rhaenys let him go.

“He… he’s gonna come back,” Dany mumbled, trying not to cry again. “You’ll see, Jon’s coming with us. And he… he’ll spar with you and read with Egg and learn everything with me.”

The ship was long gone by the time Rhaella arrived for them.

“Sweets, its time to go.”

“We gotta wait, Mama,” Dany told her. “Jon’s not here, so we gotta wait.”

“Love, Jon’s on his way to Winterfell.” Her mother knelt down beside her on the balcony and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “He left almost an hour ago, Dany.”

“He’s coming back, though. He… Jon’s going with us.”

“Not right now,” Rhalla said and her voice cracked. “He’ll join us later, okay? Come on, it’s time for us to get on a big ship, too. A brand new adventure, how does that sound?”

“But Jon…”

“I know, love. We’ll see him again.”

But Dany wanted him now, holding her hand as they raced through the castle. Pointing out all the silly cloud shapes that Dragonstone gave them plenty of in the afternoons before the usual storms. Her mother took one of her hands and, instinctively, Dany reached for Jon’s. He wasn’t there. Every part of her ached then, her fingers flexing at the air, her chest twisting tighter like a wet towel being wrung.

“Mama, Jon’s  _ got _ to—”

“We’ll write him,” Rhaenys said, and suddenly Dany’s free hand wasn’t so empty. Rhaenys’s palm was much bigger than Jon’s, but just as warm and callused from the practice yard. “Just you wait, we’re going to have so much to show you in King’s Landing, Jon will be there with us before you know it.”

Balerion meowed at their feet, then rubbed himself against Dany’s legs. She tried to smile at his sweetness, but didn’t quite manage it. Rhaenys and her mother escorted her downstairs and to the gate, and it was there, in sight of the boats, that Dany couldn’t handle her sadness any longer. While her mother cradled her and rocked her, and held her all the way down to the little boat that took them to the big ship, Dany cried and screamed, struggling to get back to her home.

To Dragonstone, her favorite place in the whole world.

* * *

“You gotta see the rest of the world first to decide if its your favorite,” Rhaenys told her reasonably once their ship had set sail and they were shut away in their tiny cabin. Dany lay on her cot built into the hull of the ship, clutching the flower crown Jon had made her. Rhaenys sat a few feet away on her own cot, antsying with boredom and confinement. “Once we see it all,  _ then _ Dragonstone can be your favorite, not before.”

“It is my favorite though, my very favoritiest,” Dany insisted. She buried her nose in the roses and pictured Jon’s bashful smile when he’d handed the crown to her.

“I thought the Red Keep’s kitchens were my favorite, but then Mother took us to Sunspear and the water gardens and then those were my favorite. But Dragonstone is nice, too. I want to see  _ all _ of Essos, too. Once you see it all, then you can pick your favorite.”

“Like Valyria or Winterfell?”

Rhaenys nodded and lay down on Dany’s cot beside her. “King’s Landing is great. You’ll see. And Dorne, too. All my cousins are down there. Lots and  _ lots _ of girls.”

“How far is Dorne from Winterfell?”

Dany frowned and curled up on her side, smiling just a bit when Balerion leapt up to join them. He snuggled right into her arms, warm and purring and safe.

“Far, I guess. I’m sure Aegon knows the exact number.”

Asking him right then wasn’t an option. According to Rhaenys, Aegon got sick the moment the ship started to move. They cuddled up together, Dany trying to imagine it was Jon next to her in the tiny bed that would be hers for a few days. Rhaenys was too boney and gangly, but Balerion was sweet and warm. He gave her cheek a few rough licks.

“Bet Jon never does that,” Rhaenys said, petting Balerion’s silky head.

“He’s always warm,” Dany said. “But he doesn’t purr like Balerion.”

“Cats are better than boys,” Rhaenys told her wisely. 

“Jon’s better than everyone.”

Rhaenys watched her for a few moments. “He’s just a silly boy, even though he’s my baby brother.”

“He’s only silly in a good way.”

“I suppose.” Rhaenys clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth a few times. “Did you know there’s secret tunnels under the Red Keep?”

Rhaenys talked the afternoon away after that, quietly and sometimes loudly, but just having her constant voice to listen to was a comfort to Dany. She wondered if Jon might have the same, then realized he only had his mother. Her and Rhaenys and Aegon were all going elsewhere. Jon was all alone, and that just made Dany cry all over again.

Rhaenys hugged her through it. She wasn’t at all like Jon, but it was a soft sort of comfort a bit like her mother. They stayed there in their shared cabin until Aegon finally came to see them, pale and shaky, but no longer losing his stomach all over the deck.

“Mother says there’s dinner,” he told them. “Up on deck, if you want anything.”

It took a lot of convincing for Dany to join them, but she was glad she did once she was out in the fresh air. Pink clouds dotted the horizon, the sun glowing golden-orange like Aegon’s doublet. Rhaella scooped Dany up onto her lap and convinced her to nibble on some bread crusts and taste a few spoonfuls of soup. Aegon didn’t touch anything despite Elia’s prodding.

“Just some bread, love,” Elia encouraged him. “Your stomach should be fine now.”

But Aegon refused as he took his seat. “I miss Jon.”

Rhaenys nodded in agreement, and nobody said anything else until their meal was finished. Rhaella carried Dany back to her tiny cabin and helped her change for bed.

“See, you’ve got Rhaenys just here in this other cot,” her mother assured her as she was tucked in. “And I’m just next door. Or if you’d rather sleep in my cabin?”

Dany shook her head, determined to be brave. Surely Jon was being brave, too. He didn’t have a Rhaenys or a Balerion or even an Aegon for company or to share his cabin. If he could be brave with nobody, then she could be brave with everyone else.

“All right, sweetheart. Good dreams.” Rhaella kissed her forehead. “Just a few days and we’ll be off this silly ship and in a whole new castle. Your very first city. How does that sound? You’re going to have so much to do and see, Daenerys.”

“Okay.”

But what she really wanted was her Jon beside her as Rhaella left for the night. Rhaenys came along a while later, a candle to light her way. Dany shut her eyes, pretending to be asleep, but she smiled as Balerion meowed and leapt up to join her on her cot.

“Good, he’s a bed hog,” Rhaenys muttered as she blew out her candle and climbed into her own bed. “He can push you to the floor instead of me.”

And Dany tried to sleep. With Balerion purring loudly and nudging his furry face against her chin, and with the ship rocking her gently in the tide, she almost managed it, but she knew what sleep meant. Dreams and ice and bad hurts and frightening images she didn’t understand. Without Jon down the hall or beside her, it was too much to chance. Once Rhaenys’s breathing evened out in sleep, Dany wrapped herself in her big blanket, placed her flower crown atop her head, and left the cabin.

Salt and warm wind greeted her up on deck. A few crew men were about, checking one thing or another, but nobody bothered her. She went all the way to the very front, Balerion’s collar jingling around her ankles, as she tried to recall the name Maester Cressen had given each part of a ship. 

“Rather late to be out, Princess.”

A plain-faced sailor was behind her, eyeing her curiously. He was slighter than Rhaegar, his face weathered, but kind, his eyes brown and warm like Rhaenys’s.

“I wanted to see the, um… the stern,” Dany told him, hoping she’d gotten the right word. Jon would have known. Maester Cressen had made sure he knew all the ship parts because he was a boy. For some reason, the two were related in importance. “That’s the front of the ship.”

The sailor smiled, but it was a gentle expression, not unlike the way Ser Barristan did around her and Jon. 

“Bow’s the front, little Princess. Stern is the back.” The sailor knelt down and gave Balerion a few pats. “See you’re behaving this time around, little prince, putting on airs for our Princess, hmm?”

Balerion mewled loudly and bumped his head against the sailor’s open hand. Dany’s mouth fell open when she noticed his shortened fingers.

“Not pretty, I know,” he told her, lifting a little pouch from under his tunic and shaking it. “Keep them in here as a reminder, but it was a just thing, losing the ends to give my wife and sons a new and better beginning.”

Dany reached for the pouch before he could stop her. “Your  _ fingers _ are in that?”

“Just the pieces of bone now,” he told her.

“But who would do that to you, Ser, um…?”

“Ser Davos Seaworth,” he told her, tucking his pouch under his clothes again. “Lord Stannis did, as a just punishment for all my years of smuggling. Now I serve him and the crown, as part of this fleet.”

“Is this _ your ship _ ?”

Ser Davos chuckled. “I’m her captain, but she’s the crown’s ship truly. Once we get you safely to King’s Landing, I’ll be returning to Storm’s End, then home to see my family.”

Dany nodded, and stared out beyond the bow’s reach. She couldn’t see much but strips of white that came and went as the water moved. Clouds flooded the sky. Half of her expected to see the ship Jon had sailed upon rushing to meet them, to find he’d learned to sail and taken over the ship to steer his way back south to her, but there was only their dark ship and the night.

“Do you sail lots and lots?”

“Not so much anymore, but once in a while, His Grace needs our ships.”

“Have you ever sailed all the way to Winterfell?”

Ser Davos shook his head. “Afraid even I couldn’t manage that. Ship like this is too big to navigate the White Knife, but even that doesn’t go directly to Winterfell.”

“Oh.” Dany frowned, her hand reaching down to touch Balerion’s cheek. “But Jon took a ship to Winterfell, so there must be a way.”

He seemed to consider her, his rough-skinned face softening further as he took a seat on a barrel beside her.

“He’ll be on his way to White Harbor first, Princess,” Ser Davos told her. “Then likely traveling by road from there. It’s a much longer journey than ours.”

_ And lots longer to bring him back here. _

“So I could take my pony all the way to Winterfell?”

He gave her a thin, sad sort of smile. Everyone was doing that to her today, but at least he wasn’t crying like Mama.

“Not by yourself,” Ser Davos said. “It’s a long way by road, weeks and weeks.”

Tears pooled in her eyes before she could stop them, her eyes burning as she tried to keep them from falling.

“You’ll see Prince Jon again, I’m certain.” Davos nudged her flower crown with some of his short fingers. “He make you this before you parted ways?”

Dany rubbed at her tears and nodded. “He’s my bestest Jon and I’m gonna wear it always.”

Davos gave her a gentle smile. “I’m sure he’ll like that. Let’s get you back to your cabin, hmm? Before your guards or mother worry.”

Dany dragged her feet, sniffling and scrubbing at her eyes with her fists, but Ser Davos was there, scooping her up and carrying her below deck as Balerion meowed and followed.

“No need for tears, Princess. Your Prince Jon, he’ll be along before you can blink, I bet.” He set her on her feet outside her cabin door and squatted down in front of her. Very carefully, he wiped her tears away with a soft cloth, then he showed her a small hunk of wood from his pocket. “Tell you what, I’ll carve you a toy, anything you like. A cat or stag, more flowers, a dragon. You pick.”

Balerion rubbed at her legs, scratching at the cabin door and howling at the top of his lungs. Dany bit her lip as Ser Davos wiped a few more of her tears aside.

“How about a dragon, like your sigil?”

“Could you make a big wolf?”

Davos looked surprised, but nodded. “I can do that, Princess.”

“A  _ big _ one,” Dany stressed. “That’s white like snow. Like the signal—sigil for Jon’s mama. A dartwolf.”

His smile was like a laugh, but it was Rhaenys who corrected her, yawning and grumbling as she pulled open the cabin door. Balerion rushed inside.

“It’s direwolf, you newt. You’re lucky I didn’t raise an alarm, disappearing like that.”

Ser Davos stood. “Direwolf it is,” he told her. “Go on, back to bed before you find an adult who’ll get you in trouble.”

Dany gave him a wave, and then had to endure Rhaenys scolding her for disappearing in the middle of the night. Her niece made her get into her cot, tucked her in, then dumped Balerion on her tummy.

“You stay right here,” Rhaenys told her cat. “Right on top of her, so she can’t leave. Don’t encourage her.”

Balerion meowed sleepily, then began to bathe himself. Dany scratched his neck, shut her eyes, and tried to be brave.

* * *

Sleep didn’t come that first night. Her second day aboard the ship, Dany was in a towering temper from not sleeping. She fought Rhaella’s attempts to dress her, had a tantrum that ended with her breakfast being splattered all over the deck, and was then confined to her cabin in an attempt to get her to sleep. Rhaenys tried to talk her down, but only lost her own temper, too.

“Fine, don’t sleep ever, then the Stranger will come get you and take you away forever!”

That only made Dany cry more, and then hit Rhaella when she tried to get her to lay down for a nap. She was left alone for the afternoon, surly and uncooperative and too tired to focus on what Aegon was reading in his books. When she’d exhausted herself of her tears and curled up at an uncomfortable angle in her cot with sweet Balerion, Aegon came to see her.

“Grandmother’s worried about you,” he told her simply, then he offered up a plate of figs and apple wedges. “Want some?”

He ate a fig as if the plate was meant to be all for him, but Dany knew he’d brought it for her.

“I  _ hate _ figs,” she told him grumpily.

Aegon rolled his eyes in a very Jon-like way. “Do not. You ate dozens of them on Dragonstone.”

She sat up, pouting, then snatched one from the plate. It was delightfully sweet and made her belly rumble as she chewed. Before Aegon could blink, Dany tugged the plate away and dug in. He took a seat on the edge of her cot and watched her eat until the plate was empty.

“You gotta sleep, too,” he told her smartly. “Or you’ll get sick or hurt.”

“No.”

She shivered at the very thought of their dreams—hers alone now without Jon. If the ice people got him, how would she know he was okay when he was weeks and weeks away?

“Dreams are scary,” Aegon said. “I have some sometimes that make all sorts of weird or frightening things happen, but they aren’t actually happening out here since I’m sleeping. Cause if you wake up, then you were asleep. So whatever you saw in your dream wasn’t right because you can’t be awake and asleep all at once.”

Dany frowned at him. “But it’s real, though. They wanna hurt Jon, and there’s something… they wanna hurt our dragons, too.”

Aegon pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them as he peered over at her with his dark purple eyes.

“I think Rhaenie sees them, too, sometimes,” he told her. “They’re all shiny and like the crystals at the big Sept in King’s Landing, she says. But we’re big people then, not little like now.”

She stared at him, uncertain. “You see them, too?”

“No,” Aegon admitted. “Not  _ them _ , but the Wall sometimes, and lots of fire and… I think it’s Jon. I wasn’t sure before I met him, but his eyes are right. He’s big though, like Mother and Father, and he’s got whiskers on his face like lots of lords do.”

Dany made a face at that. Some of the guards and cooks at Dragonstone had whiskers, but they looked awfully silly to her. Who grew hair all over their face instead of on top of their head?

“Jon doesn’t have whiskers.”

Aegon shrugged. “He will someday. And me, but mine’ll look funny like Father’s because our hair’s so pale instead of golden.”

She’d never seen her brother with whiskers. Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn didn’t grow theirs out either. Trying to picture Jon with a fuzzy face only made her laugh.

“They do look sort of silly, I guess. But they’ll be nice and warm once winter is here.”

That stopped the laughter in Dany’s throat. She swallowed shakily and nodded.

“We always have the same dream,” she confided. “I’m up in the black sky with my big dragon, trying to get down to where Jon is. I know it’s him, even though I can’t see him real well. He’s on the ground with a big sword and they… they’re trying to…”

“They won’t,” Aegon said, and he’d never sounded so confident. “Jon’s always gonna be better at swords than me. Besides, if we’re all there with him, we won’t let them hurt him. Nobody gets to hurt my brother.”

Aegon took the empty plate from her and nudged her to lay down. Dany did, yawning a bit as she went.

“I don’t wanna dream,” she muttered sleepily. “If they get Jon, if he’s not here—”

“I’ll stay here,” Aegon told her. “And make sure you don’t go anywhere. If you don’t leave here, then you can’t really have been anywhere else, can you?”

Dany nodded and shut her eyes. And this time when she dreamt, it was of spring for the first time.

* * *

King’s Landing appeared on the horizon the following afternoon. Dany could just see the great red towers of their family’s castle, high, high, high upon Aegon’s hill. Her brother took great care to stand with her on the bow, holding her up so she might see all she could before the setting sun disappeared.

“That’s our home,” he told her, shifting her weight to his hip. “And see those bright glimmers? That’s the Great Sept on the next hill.”

Dany gazed up at it all in wonder. After Dragonstone, she’d expected King’s Landing to be little more than another big island, with another dark and gloomy castle. She’d learned a bit about the royal city, of course, but words on pages weren’t quite as impactful as seeing the great towers in all their glory. Every red tower was reaching for the sky. The hills were so high she had to crane her neck back just to see them as they approached. Even from the bay, Dany’s nose crinkled from all the new, strange smells.

“Have you learned the names of the hills yet?”

“Um, they named them after Rhaenys and Visenya and Aegon,” Dany told him. “And the Street of Sisters joins Rhaenys and Visenya’s hills, and the one’s got the Dragonpit where our dragons can live because it got busted open for the sky to come in.”

Rhaegar sighed, but didn’t say anything about dragons. He continued to ask her all sorts of questions as the ship came in to dock. About what Aegon had gone, and who the Sept was named for, about the intricacies of the Red Keep and its inner castle. She was so distracted, Dany almost forgot about the sad ache in her tummy, but as Rhaegar carried her down the plank to a waiting carriage in the growing dark, the sensation returned ever stronger.

“When does Jon get to see King’s Landing?”

“Soon,” Rhaegar told her as he set her inside the carriage with their mother. “He’ll be here before you know it.”

“Will Jon and me get something named after us, too?”

He almost smiled. “Perhaps, someday, if you do lots of good for our people.”

“Oh.” Dany considered that as Elia arrived to join them with Rhaenys and Aegon. “What are they going to name after you?”

“Maybe we can grow another hill, Father, and name it Rhaegar’s hill!” Rhaenys was covered in scratches, Balerion growling low rumbles from the wooden basket he’d been locked in. “Don’t be a baby,” Rhaenys told the basket as Ser Lewyn lifted it inside with them. “If you’d just  _ stay _ in the carriage, we’d let you out, but you want to run off with the other cats.”

Balerion snarled and hissed as their carriage began to move. Lines of guards on horseback followed them on either side. Dany watched it all through the curtains, taking in everything she could as the darkness grew. The smells were sort of rotten and muddy, the noise of the stones underneath them a lot of odd clattering, but there were people all about. Rhaegar rode before them with Ser Barristan and another white-cloaked knight she didn’t know. He looked as much like a king as he had when he’d arrived on Dragonstone.

They passed through an enormous old gate in the curtain wall, then on and on, through rows of houses and buildings in red stone. People were everywhere, hurrying to the side as someone announced their procession. Dany gazed at every face in wonder. Some were so old their skin had shriveled like raisins. Others were smaller than her, a few running about naked as their parents tried to wash them. She’d never seen so many people, even if she’d counted every person from every day of her life.

“They all live here?” she asked her mother in amazement.

“Yes, love, King’s Landing is a proper city,” Rhaella told her. “There’s more people here than the entirety of the North.”

That made her a bit sad, knowing Jon had less potential friends to make, but then a bad sort of happy, knowing that meant he’d still want to be her friend when he came to see them.

“This street is called the Hook,” Elia told her. “We’ll be up to the Red Keep in a few moments.”

And really, it was all impressive and wonderingful. 

In all her imaginings with Jon, they’d never gotten close to what King’s Landing proved to be. And as they arrived in the courtyard of Maegor’s holdfast, Dany hoped Jon felt the very same amazement when he reached Winterfell, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Dany arrives in King's Landing safely, albeit sad.
> 
> We'll be shifting gears to Winterfell and the North for 2-3 chapters probably, then back south with Dany and co. before everyone joins up again. Aka a bit of skipping through those months apart, and then we'll get into the bigger time skips soon afterward I think.
> 
> Next up is Lyanna, and then either Ned and then Jon, or just Jon. We shall see. Back to the one a week updates for the time being, but I'll let you know if/when that changes. -the thunderous hooves of NaNoWriMo grow closer-
> 
> Until next time, loves!


	8. LYANNA II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares track the journey north, Lyanna reunites with her brother, and Jon gets an introduction to Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuesdaaaaaaaaaaay!
> 
> Lyanna this time around, and I'll leave the rest of the notes until after the chapter, enjoy!

Chilly air filled their bedchamber when Lyanna woke at sunrise. 

Jon was tucked to her side, finally, blissfully asleep. They’d drifted off together only a few hours before, after an entire night of tantrums and nightmares. Only this time, it had been different. Lyanna couldn’t quite say how, but Jon’s reaction—while expected to be worse than usual—had been frantic and explosive. He’d been out of control, wild and even violent when Ser Arthur tried to restrain him. Nothing they’d said for nearly an hour had gotten through to him, not until as a last ditch effort, Lyanna had dug the old stone dragon egg from their luggage. Jon had latched onto it at once, still crying.

He was calmer than a godswood now. She ran her fingers through his soft curls, smoothed the tickly hairs of his eyebrows flat. Even then, he was still hugging the old stone, perhaps imagining it was Daenerys beside him instead. 

A soft knock brought Ser Arthur into the chamber, as stoic and prepared as if he’d never gone to bed. Even with a reddened cheek from Jon, his duties had not changed. Lyanna was grateful for that much.

“Lord Manderly has invited you to an early meal before our departure, my Queen.”

“Of course.” Lyanna eased herself from Jon’s side and grabbed her robe. “We’ll be down shortly, although Jon…”

Ser Arthur only nodded. He’d helped her countless nights over the course of their two week journey. Through her seasickness and Jon’s sporadic nightmares. Jon had been so strong that day they’d left, holding his head high and his chin strong, not crying when he’d said his goodbyes to Daenerys or Rhaella or his siblings. Even Rhaegar had been pleased by the quick, awkward hug Jon gave him. All the way out to their ship, his face had been impassive. Dragonstone disappearing into the mist, however, had undone her son completely. Nightmares had chased him ever since, his dragon egg little more than a security blanket for the home he’d lost. Arriving in White Harbor had at least been a relief on her stomach yesterday, until Jon’s worst nightmare yet had occurred.

_ I’ll see you through this, my brave boy, I swear it. _

She dressed and made herself ready, then changed Jon into suitable travel clothes while he slept on. He was exhausted entirely. Lyanna fitted his boots to his little feet, put the egg back in his trunk, then scooped him up into her arms, tucked his head to her shoulder.

“Nothing is going to hurt you, little wolf,” she told him softly. “No matter what your dreams say, I won’t let the world make you less than happy.”

Lord Manderly and his granddaughters were sitting down to eat when she arrived, Jon asleep in her arms.

“Your Grace, please sit. And our little prince here.”

Lord Wyman pulled a chair out for her and then one right next to his eldest granddaughter for Jon. Their host had been nothing but delighted upon their arrival. He’d dotted on Jon, heaped gifts into their wagon train departing for Winterfell today, and tried more than once to encourage Jon toward his granddaughters. So far, Jon had been mostly quiet, confused, and far too alone in his new world.

“I’m afraid he’s had a difficult night,” Lyanna said as she took the seat Lord Wyman offered. “Best he sleeps a while longer.”

“Of course, of course. Food for the road then. Perhaps a lamprey pie.”

Lyanna offered him a forced smile and ate. It was difficult with Jon curled against her, using one hand clumsily and trying not to shift him too much. Lord Wyman rambled on about all sorts of things—harvests and fishing, Lord Wendel accompanying them to Winterfell, and over and over he inserted his granddaughters into the conversation, particularly the oldest who was near Jon’s age.

“Smart as a whip on a horse’s backside,” he told her, patting Wynafryd’s shoulder. “We’re very pleased with the lady she’s becoming.”

“Yes, I’m sure she’ll do quite well running her own castle someday if she so wishes.”

“Wylis intends to bring her on his upcoming visits to Winterfell and Castle Cerwyn. Introduce her to the rest of the North.”

And he left it at that, but it would be hard to miss his intentions and hopes. To marry his granddaughter to Winterfell or the crown. Lyanna had no doubts the lords of the North would seek such a marriage to her son for their daughters or granddaughters if possible, but she’d hoped she could shield him from it for a few more years. Then she’d have a better chance at convincing Rhaegar of the most obvious match.

Ser Wendel arrived then, bowing low to her.

“When you’re ready to depart, my Queen.”

She thanked them all, then carried Jon down through the castle to the covered wagon that awaited them. Two weeks ago, she’d hoped they might ride on their own horses out in the fresh air. But Jon was in no state to ride right now. And she was loath to admit more sleep would serve her well, too. Lyanna settled him in, pleased to see a nest of blankets and pillows had been made inside just for them. Ser Arthur gave her a short nod as he mounted his stallion beside her.

“Thank you,” she told him.

After Jon was tucked in, Lyanna curled up beside him and kissed his forehead. The carriage began to bump and sway as their procession departed.

“Just a while longer and we’ll be home.”

_ Or what’s home to me. How I hope it might be a home for you, too, my sweet boy. _

* * *

Three days on the road to Winterfell, Jon finally had a full, peaceful night of sleep. He woke her at daybreak, yawning but bright-eyed as he draped himself over her.

“Mama, I’m hungry and I have to… I gotta pee.”

Lyanna rubbed her eyes and blinked up at his face that was way too close. “Love, I told you how relieving yourself out here works.”

He danced away, clutching his crotch and biting his lip. “But Mama, I  _ gotta _ —”

Ser Arthur’s dark head ducked through their tent flap and he offered a hand to Jon. “This way, my Prince.”

Jon hurried after him and Lyanna lay back down in relief. Trying to explain to a six-year-old, who’d only ever used a chamberpot, that he could pee anywhere he wanted in the woods was not going well. Ser Arthur at least, had no qualms about showing her son the ropes. By the time Jon returned, Ser Wendel had brought them a breakfast of porridge and berries.

Lyanna ate most of hers, then let Jon finish her bowl once he’d licked his clean. It was the most he’d eaten in days. Seeing him so energetic again was delightful, though it worried her, too, how fast his nightmares might turn back to the gloom of the last week. When she offered up the idea of them riding with everyone else, Jon smiled for the first time since Dragonstone.

“On my pony? With Ser Arthur and all the guards and everyone?”

“So long as you don’t gallop off. Promise?”

“Yes huh!”

She’d not seen him so carefree in weeks as Ser Arthur hoisted him onto his pony and made sure he had his feet situated properly. Lyanna breathed easier with each smile or fit of laughter. Being out in the open air seemed to do them both good. Her head was clear and her exhaustion lessened. Jon’s temper and fears subsided in the face of so many new things to see and ask about. They raced ahead and then back to their column, Ser Arthur never far, faces pink from the cold wind. Delight nearly overwhelmed her when Jon’s very first snowflakes fell later that afternoon. He darted around where their guards and escorts were setting up camp, trying to catch the tiny wisps of flakes on his tongue.

“Mama, they melt so fast!”

“Of course they do, you big silly,” Lyanna told him, and she ran toward him, scooping him into her arms and tossing him upward. Already, he was getting too heavy for her to throw toward the sky like she’d done when he was small. Nothing had made him giggle and shriek in joy quite like those brief moments of being airborne. “You’re a lot warmer than these tiny snowflakes. They’ll always melt when faced with a dragon, even a little dragon.”

Jon frowned at that, squirming to be let down. He gazed up at her seriously. “I’m not little no more. I’m a  _ big _ dragon.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

“Yes, I’m a big dragon and a big wolf, too!”

Before Jon could get away, she caught him again, giving his sides a good tickle until he was laughing and gasping for breath. Lyanna hugged him to her chest, cradling him as best she could. He’d be too big for that before long, too.

“Even when you’re too big for my arms, Jon, you’ll always be my little dragonwolf. Understand?”

He pressed his face to her neck and nodded. “Yes, Mama.”

* * *

Winterfell dawned on their tenth day.

“Just a while longer, little love,” Lyanna whispered to Jon, the pair of them tucked away in their carriage once more. 

They’d had a few good days, and then another symphony of nightmares. Jon had been a misery ever since, not sleeping, barely eating, kicking Ser Arthur and even her when his temper got the best of him. Right then, as their line of wagons and horses crested the final hill, Lyanna was frightened and relieved at the sight. Would some place more stable give Jon’s nights a little peace? Or would he only find worse at Winterfell?

_ Will every day apart from Dany be more of what the last moon has been? _

He sniffled and pushed at her embrace weakly, trembling.

“No sleep,” Jon mumbled against her shoulder, his tears and snoot seeping into her cloak. “Want Dany, Mama.”

“I know, love, I do.”

_ Damn you, Rhaegar. Would it have been so wrong to keep them together a while longer? _

She scowled as the Winterfell guards in the distance shouted for the gates to be opened. Lyanna shifted their curtain and turned Jon just enough to see outside.

“Look, love, that’s Winterfell. Can you see that great weirwood with its beautiful leaves?”

He whined a bit, but finally looked, the sight of it’s scarlet leaves towering over all the pines and sentinels and even the walls, moving him to silence.

“See? Very soon, we can go into the godswood and sit right under it. I’m sure your Uncle Ned or cousin Robb would love to show it to us. He’s just your age, don’t you remember?”

Jon only buried his face in her cloak. He’d spent the entire morning begging her for Dany. All the way up the road and through the gate, Lyanna watched her home surround her once more. Relief seeped deep into her bones, warmed and soothed her worries. She was home. Back to the chill and the forests, to the morning frosts and the godswood, to the distant howls of wolf packs that roamed the endless wildness of the North.

“We’re here, love. Let’s clean your face up, okay?”

She sat Jon beside her and wiped his nose and eyes, then peppered his face with kisses that almost made him smile.

“I know this is so very much right now, Jon. You’ve been so strong and brave since we left Dragonstone, but I promise you, this place can be like a home, too. That you’ll be welcomed and safe and loved. Winterfell means family, just like Dragonstone and King’s Landing. One day, we’ll get Dany to come up here and see it, too, okay?”

“Promise?”

“I swear it.” She brushed his curls into a more reasonable state of order, put his little circlet on, then offered him her hand. “Ready to go meet our family?”

He took a moment, rubbing his eyes and taking a few long breaths, then Jon took her hand. She climbed out of the carriage, then helped him down on his little legs. All the castle had gathered to greet them, taking a knee as their lord did for her. And it was so strange to see her big brother again after six years, to watch him kneel to her as if she’d somehow earned the gesture.

Once she would have been excited by it. But that was a belief from before Jon had taken root in her womb; when dreams had seemed as fantastic as real life.

“Get up, Ned, and let me look at this ridiculous beard of yours.”

Ned rose to his feet, and he might have been Father for a moment. Glum and plain-faced and so very serious. His brown hair was a bit longer than it had been and tied back like Father’s, his eyes a solid gray, his chin and cheeks covered in growths of brown whiskers. Yet as soon as she rubbed her hand over his slightly patchy beard, Ned smiled.

“See the south hasn’t run the wolf out of you quite yet.”

“I’d like to see them try.”

Then he pulled her into a real hug, one that was warm and true and so very much the home she’d yearned for since she’d left so many years before. With Ned, she was safe. There was no second guessing, no ulterior motives, just the brother she trusted implicitly. Someone she could fully be herself around.

“I’ve missed you, big brother.”

“Missed you, too.”

Ned let her go slowly, his smile shifting to his natural frown as he looked her over. Beside him, Ser Rodrik was helping Lady Stark back to her feet. And for good reason.

“You needn’t kneel for us, my Lady,” Lyanna told her good-sister, taking in her swollen belly. “How are you faring?”

“Well, Your Grace. Ready for him to be in my arms instead,” Lady Catelyn told her, trying and failing to curtsy. 

Before Lyanna could reply, Jon was tugging at her sleeve.

“Mama, Mama, why’s her belly so  _ big _ ?”

Ned beat her to an answer. “My lady wife is having a baby soon, Prince Jon.”

Her son’s eyes grew huge. “There’s a whole baby in there?”

Ned chuckled. “Yes.” He squatted down before Jon and offered him his hand. Jon gave it a long look, then shook it once, hard. “Well done, lad, and welcome to Winterfell. I’m your Uncle Ned.”

Jon gazed at him in wonder, then reached forward to touch his face in an awe Lyanna didn’t quite understand at first. He’d seen men with beards before, understood he’d one day have his own. But there was a deep reverence in Jon’s touch.

“You look like  _ us _ ,” Jon told her brother in absolute joy. His head whipped around to her, positively beaming. “Mama, he looks like us!”

“Of course he does, you silly wolf,” she said, kneeling down beside him and brushing his curls out of his eyes. “He’s my brother.”

Jon frowned, looking from her to Ned. “But Egg and Rhae don’t look like me.”

“Sometimes that’s how it is.” Ned ruffled his hair, and Jon smiled once more. The ease he already had with her brother made her eyes burn.

_ If he could only have that with Rhaegar. _

Her brother gestured to the little boy at his side, who stepped forward proudly. He was Lady Catelyn’s coloring from his eyes to his hair, but a bit of Ned lingered in his face. “Robb, this is your cousin, Jon.”

Robb nodded at him. “Hi.”

Jon nodded back, uncertain. “Your hair’s like a ruby.”

Robb squinted in confusion, turning to his father. “What’s a ruby?”

“It’s a gem, Robb.”

“Oh. Well, that’s okay then.”

They gave each other a few shifty looks, then each took a step backward toward their mother’s skirts. Little Sansa curtsied to them, wobbling on her still chubby three-year-old legs. Ned gestured to the rest of the gathering, and slowly the inhabitants of Winterfell went off to their tasks. Ned guided Lady Catelyn inside with a gentle hand on her lower back.

“And where’s little Arya?”

“Sleeping,” Catelyn told her. “She’s cut another tooth, I’m afraid. Completely miserable from dusk to dawn.”

They went into a chamber off the feast hall that Ned seemed to have organized into a solar for guests and perhaps the children. Lyanna took off her cloak and admired all the changes. During their childhood, this room had been storage for extra chairs and candles. Ned encouraged Jon to come over to the corner where Robb had already settled into playing with a chest full of wooden toys.

“Go on, boys, that’s all for you two.”

Jon picked up a little armored knight, examining it closely.

“My knight’s gonna beat your knight,” Robb challenged, waving his little knight’s wooden sword, and within moments the pair were deep into a game of swords, making up battles and pulling heroes’ names from the history they knew. 

Lady Catelyn smiled as she watched the pair, rubbing her overripe belly. She looked exhausted.

“Robb’s been so excited to have a boy his age around,” Catelyn confessed to her. “Our new ward is too old to have the same interests right now, and baby sisters are hardly fit for the training yard.”

Lyanna offered her a small smile. “Jon will surely take him up on any sword fighting adventures they can dream up. It’s his very favorite hobby these days.”

Ned offered them both some wine, and Lyanna took it gratefully. He took the chair between them, cast an eye over to the boys lost in their play, then back to her.

“How was the journey?”

“The weather was kind,” Lyanna said, watching Rob and Jon clack their knights together clumsily. “Jon’s had better weeks, I’m afraid.”

Her brother nodded, seemed unsurprised. “Lord Manderly wrote after you left,” he told her. “Said you’d both taken ill on the ship.”

“My stomach’s never agreed with the tides.”

“And Jon’s?”

Lyanna gave him a dark look. She’d written Ned more times than she could count while isolated at Dragonstone. For those first few awkward months, when she and Rhaella were still uncertain of one another, those letters had been all that had really kept her going. He knew parts of Jon’s nightmares, though not most of the details, and certainly not the newest version taking shape within the last week.

“Nightmares, of course.” Lyanna sipped her wine. “I suspected they’d be hard to manage him through without Daenerys close enough that he can see she’s fine.”

“Dreams pass eventually,” Ned offered. “Perhaps his time here with us will do him some good. Let his nightmares fade into just an old childhood memory.”

_ If only they would. _

But the terror of the ones in the last week, the new words Jon was screaming and mumbling and trying to explain at first, then hide from… 

All of it was evolving into some new demon.

“We shall find out,” Lyanna said simply. “When is my new nephew expected?”

“Soon. A moon perhaps.”

Across the chamber, Jon had vacated their play and made his way into her lap. He gazed over at Lady Catelyn’s belly once more, curious as could be.

“Lady Stark, um, did you  _ eat _ the baby? Robb says you didn’t, but you must have to get it in your tummy.”

They all had a good laugh at his assumptions, the ideas only a small child could create as an explanation. Jon frowned at her.

“But Mama, she  _ must _ have!”

“So you think I ate you when you were a baby, too?” Lyanna poked his nose so his face scrunched up. “You grew in my belly, just like your little cousin is growing inside Lady Catelyn’s womb.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “What’s a womb?”

“It’s where babies grow inside a woman,” Lyanna explained, pressing a hand to her own belly. “Right now, there’s no baby in my womb, so my tummy’s all flat, see? But when a man and a woman decide to have a baby, the woman’s womb starts to swell as the baby grows.”

“Oh.” He considered that, then turned back to Lady Catelyn. For a moment, he raised his hand to touch her stomach, then hesitated. “You didn’t eat a whole baby?”

Lady Catelyn gave him a gentle smile. “No, but he’s moving right now. Do you want to feel?”

Jon nodded eagerly as she took his tiny hand and pressed it to the top of her rounded belly. Then he gave a huge gasp and jumped away.

“Mama, it’s trying to get out!”

Cautiously, he came back over and placed his trembling hand on her belly once more. Jon’s mouth fell open. Across the room, Robb had grown bored of playing alone. He brought their knights over to Jon.

“Come on, Jon, let’s play a new game. We can be kings this time.”

But her son’s focus was entirely on her good-sister’s belly and the little baby kicking his hand. Robb rolled his eyes.

“It’s just another baby,” he told Jon sensibly. “Mother’s had them before.”

Lyanna gave her nephew a smile. “Jon’s never seen a baby growing in someone’s belly before, Robb.”

And her nephew frowned at her, confused. “You only had Jon? But I thought he had a brother and sister, Auntie Lyanna.”

She did her best not to flinch at his words. Countless times already, even isolated on Dragonstone, Lyanna had tried to prepare herself for the inevitable questions of why she had only given her lord husband one child. Her good-sister was already on her fourth. Most women so many years into a marriage would have a few at hand or breast, but not her. Jon was enough. Especially with her and Rhaegar’s current relationship and the south’s problematic view of their son’s legitimacy. Consciously bringing a second child into that wasn’t something she wanted.

“He does,” Lyanna told him. “A half-brother and half-sister by King Rhaegar’s first wife.”

And for Robb that was enough, and for Ned, too, she was certain, but Lady Catelyn’s face had fractured just slightly. Enough for Lyanna to recognize the low hum of hostility toward her. She’d anticipated that on some level, her brother’s lady wife being a southroner. But she hoped their shared love of Ned could defuse whatever beliefs Lady Catelyn might hold toward her decisions not to do right by her lord husband.

And Jon, of course. He’d been isolated for years, but he held a charm all his own that Lyanna anticipated would win over her good-sister. Already, he had his aunt smiling as he admired the swell of her stomach.

Jon’s fascination continued all through the afternoon and their early private dinner. He stayed close to his aunt, asking a million questions, most of which they did their best to distract him from. Some things, Lyanna had decided, ought to wait a while longer. At least until he could read on his own. Once he had that mastered, it wouldn’t be long before he ran into the truth of mating. Conversation could flow from there.

Halfway through their meal, Jon dozed right off, his hand falling into his soup bowl, his head dropping to the table next to it. Lyanna made her apologies and hoisted him into her arms, excusing them for the evening. Ned followed after her.

“I’ve set you with all of us, in our tower,” Ned told her. “A few floors above us for some privacy. Jon will have your old chambers.”

And they were the perfect set up for her little boy. Ned had spared no expense in his renovation, thought of every little comfort and necessity and touch that a growing boy might need. Furs covered the great bed, banners of both the Stark and Targaryen sigils hung overhead. There were toys and training swords and a little pile of books on fairy tales and Northern history fit for a boy of six. On the table beside the bed, a considerable heap of scrolls was waiting for them, sealed in red wax.

“Letters already?”

Ned smiled just enough to show a few teeth. “Been pouring into Maester Luwin’s chambers all week. Mostly from Daenerys, but there’s a few from his siblings and grandmother.”

Lyanna examined one, denoting Dany’s gigantic squiggly hand on the outside spelling Jon’s name in smudged ink. They’d save them for the morning, something cheerful and great that might start his day better.

“I had Robb help with Jon’s chamber,” he told her. “A good first opportunity for him to act the lord. He was very adamant about the battle axes.”

Lyanna laughed as she lay Jon down upon his bed. On the wall above the fire, a pair of crossed old axes had been set into brackets well out of Jon’s reach.

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted to have something new to admire.”

Ned nodded, but he lingered instead of leaving.

“You two will be okay?”

“So long as his nightmares stay away,” Lyanna said. “They’ve only gotten worse, Ned. All the way north; a few days of reprieve, and then some new terror. He can’t even properly explain what he’s seeing. And without Dany…”

He took a seat beside her, and Lyanna broke down as soon as she was in his arms. Rhaella’s comfort had been nice, but nothing compared to family—to the brother she’d known since birth.

“Jon’s a strong lad,” Ned told her gently. “We’ll talk to Maester Luwin, see if he has some ideas of what we can do to help him. Maybe Old Nan, too. She did raise Hodor, and who knows how many generations of Starks.”

She laughed at that. 

“Gods, is she truly still around?”

“Aye, intent on filling Robb’s head with all sorts of fairy tales. I half-expect him to sleep in full plate like Benjen tried to do after she told us that wicked tale of the Long Night.”

Lyanna leaned away from his embrace and wiped her eyes. She turned to look at Jon, sprawled out just where she’d left him.

“I want this to be good for him, Ned. For the North to be a home just as Dragonstone was. What if he sees Winterfell as a punishment? I couldn’t bear it if he resented our home. ”

Ned shook his head, reached over and pulled Jon’s muddy boots off.

“He won’t, Lya. Jon may have his father’s name, but he’s just as much a Stark as you or I. As much as Robb is. We’ll make sure this is a home for him, no matter what it takes, okay?”

“When did you get so confident?” Lyanna stared at him, from his firm words to his steady expression. Even as she watched, he stood and tucked Jon in with several furs. “What happened to my shy big brother from Harrnehal?”

“He became Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

“And a father.”

Ned nodded. “Life has a habit of changing in an instant. Do you want to visit the godswood this evening? Or the crypts? I can watch him.”

Lyanna stood, too, wrapping one of the furs around her shoulders. The northern summer would take a few days to get used to after the south. She set Jon’s circlet on the bedside table and kissed his forehead.

“No, we’ll go in the morning. I can’t wait for him to see the castle.” And she smiled at the very thought of Jon amongst the fresh scent of pine and sap and earth, of the shadowy deepness that lingered in the very air. Of walking him through the rows of stone kings and telling him each of their names; of the way his eyes would surely light up when he saw all the winter roses in the glass gardens. “Perhaps the old gods will give him comfort now he’s here with them.”

Ned said, “I hope so. Robb and I will join you, if that’s all right.”

“Please.” She gave Jon another kiss, then pecked Ned’s whiskery cheek. She made a face at how scratchy a kiss it was. 

“What?”

“Are you  _ really _ going to keep the beard?”

Her brother rolled his eyes and bade her goodnight. Lyanna took a seat in the armchair beside the fire, staying to watch over Jon, to be right there just in case a nightmare reached him. She fell asleep before the fire, lost in old memories turned dreams.

* * *

It was past daybreak when she woke. Damp mist clung to the window panes, the dawn frost melting to speckled swaths of dew. Jon was no longer in bed, instead perched on the window seat trying to read one of his numerous letters aloud by the gray daylight.

“—Ba-lay… um, Baelor? Balerion!” He beamed at the new word, reading onward even as Lyanna watched. “Balerion broke Father’s um…”

She hesitated to interrupt his frowning, took a moment just to enjoy his determination to learn whatever had been written on the parchment.

“Co-ron-et?” Jon scowled, then muttered to himself, “Rhaenys, why’d you have to use so many new words?”

“Because that’s what big sisters are for,” Lyanna told him. She waved him and his letter over, then regretted it when he leapt into her lap and kneed her in the stomach. “Ouch, careful, love. Now let’s see, where are you?”

Jon pointed to a line toward the bottom of the letter. Lyanna read through it all quickly, both proud he’d made it so far and amused at all of the big words Rhaenys had clearly inserted on purpose. Half of them weren’t even properly used.

“I sounded it out like Father always said,” Jon told her. “But it’s not a word, Mama.”

“It is a word,” Lyanna assured him. “You’ve just got to match the right parts of it together. So this first one is cor, then o, then nit. Coronet.”

Jon gave the word a filthy look. “But it’s an  _ e _ at the end, Mama.”

“Well, words can be silly sometimes, just like the word ‘thought’.”

Jon groaned. “I still say it’s spelled  _ wrong. _ ”

She poked him on the nose. “I say it’s not.” With a quick glance at the other letters, it was clear Jon had been up and reading for quite some time. “Have you read all of these?”

“All of Dany’s,” he told her proudly. Then he jumped off her and dug through the loose scrolls. “Look, she drew me a picture of King’s Landing!”

When Lyanna unrolled the scroll it took all of her manners not to laugh. Every bit of the paper was covered in red scribbles. A few seemed to be lined up vertically like towers, but otherwise it was a sea of red.

“I bet she’d love it if you drew her a picture of Winterfell,” Lyanna said as she stood up and stretched from her night in the armchair. “Later though, we need some breakfast, and then what do you think of visiting the godswood and seeing Mama’s home properly?”

His eyes grew huge just at the mention of the godswood. He was the exact opposite of the boy from yesterday morning. It ought to have been a relief, but for Lyanna, a crushing pang of fear and guilt ricocheted through her. But Jon smiled and nodded.

“I’ll get dressed all on my own!”

He managed it for the most part, though he ended up with socks that didn’t match. Lyanna changed as well, then led him to the hall where the Starks were already eating. All five were there, even tiny Arya, who they hadn’t met the previous day. She gave a shriek of greeting, as wispy as Dany had been as a one-year-old. Ned was bouncing her on his knee and trying to coax her to try some porridge.

“No!”

“Arya, it’s good. You eat this, see?”

“No!”

And her youngest niece knocked the offered spoon right out of her father’s hand. Lady Catelyn sighed in exasperation. Beside her, Robb was already finished and Sansa was eating small bites like a perfect little lady. Lyanna bid them good morning and took a seat across from Ned, Jon beside her.

“And this must be my niece I’ve heard so much about.”

Ned snorted. “So much about because she’s near as wild as you were.”

Arya gave another delighted shriek. “No!”

“You are so, darling,” Ned told her. “Wild as a wolf, you are.”

Arya gave them a smile full of half-erupted baby teeth. Before Ned could stop her she was on the table and crawling over to them.

“No?” she asked Jon, though to what point, Lyanna could only guess.

Jon gave her a curious look and shrugged. “Porridge is gross.”

Arya shrieked again, then flung herself off the table at him. Jon just managed to catch her, tumbling backwards with her weight. If not for Ser Arthur’s hand at his back, they both would have ended up on the floor. Lyanna watched her son’s slight panic as Arya sat herself in his lap, babbling away to him in a language only she could follow.

“Mama, what do I do?”

“Say hello to your cousin,” Lyanna said, passing him a bowl of porridge. “And eat your gross porridge.”

It took him a few moments to figure out how to handle a baby in his lap. Jon had never encountered one before. A few of the castle maids on Dragonstone had had babies during their stay, but Jon had never interacted with any of those children. Until Aegon and Rhaenys, it had only been him and Dany.

“Err, I’m Jon,” he told Arya, who was intent on messing with the spoon in his bowl. “Your cousin, Jon.”

“No!” 

And to make her point, Arya hefted a spoonful of porridge from the bowl and shoved it into his mouth. 

Porridge got all over his face, even in his hair. In moments, the pair were a mess, laughing and grabbing porridge by the handful and smearing it on each other.

“ _ Ned _ .” 

Lady Catelyn’s voice was aggrieved. Ned cleared his throat, let the pair have a few more moments of fun, then hoisted Arya up into his arms. At once, she began to fuss.

“None of that now, you know you aren’t supposed to play with your food.”

Lyanna cast an eye at her good-sister’s severe gaze on her daughter, and then at Jon. “No food fights,” Lyanna reminded him. Then she helped clean his face and the bits that had gotten into his hair. “Here, eat my bowl.”

Jon ate without complaint as Catelyn left with a now screaming Arya, who’s continued chants of, “No!” faded down the hall.

“I see what you mean,” Lyanna told her brother. “Very much like myself.”

“Did you get in food fights, Auntie Lyanna?”

She gave Robb a secretive smile. “I can’t very well give up those potential secrets now after so many years, can I?”

He grinned at her, then led Sansa to her lessons with the Septa at Ned’s request. Once Robb returned and Jon and her had eaten, the four of them departed the hall for the yard and then the gate to the godswood. Jon was almost vibrating with excitement at everything. The remaining frost crunching under his boots, the canopy of scarlet leaves growing closer, the sight of Ser Rodrik drilling men in the yard.

“Mama, Mama, can we do that later? Please!”

“We’ll see,” she told him. With so much to see today, she wasn’t certain if he’d have the energy for the yard afterward. “Ready to see a real heart tree?”

Ned opened the gate and Jon was the first inside, rushing ahead into the layer of damp and rotting leaves upon the ground. Robb gave a yell and followed. The pair raced into the trees, laughing and smiling and chasing. Lyanna took her time, admiring every steaming pool, each fallen branch and flaking piece of bark on the tree trunks. Somehow, it was exactly as she remembered it, right down to the great face carved into the weirwood. 

Jon was already in front of it, Robb attempting to walk his way across a log over one of the pools nearby.

“It’s really real,” he whispered as Lyanna knelt beside her son. Amazement danced on his features, a soft sort of awe that held no sign of fear. “They’re here with us, aren’t they?”

“Yes, wherever there’s a heart tree such as this, the old gods are with you. They’ll keep you safe.” She had him kneel with her, just as they’d practiced in her make believe godswood on Dragonstone. “Anything you want to tell them or ask, go ahead.”

And Jon was quiet for a long time as Lyanna prayed silently. She expressed her gratitude for a safe journey, for allowing them both to return to the North, for her family’s safety and Jon’s future. Her breath rose in foggy clouds, her cheeks burned a faint pink in the cold. After so many years, she swore she could almost hear them whispering through the wind.

“Old gods,” Jon’s little voice murmured, “um, I know you can’t see Dany and Egg and Rhae in King’s Landing, but it’d really good if they were all happy and safe.”

It was all he said, at least out loud. After that, he examined the tree and the steaming pools, playing with Robb and then disappearing into the trees, Ser Arthur never far behind. When he returned tiny Arya was toddling beside him, holding his hand. Jon looked completely baffled.

“Uncle Ned, Arya’s here!”

If anything, her brother looked more exasperated than surprised. Arya squealed and tried to run toward him, but tripped on one of the big roots. She didn’t cry out though, just wobbled back to her feet, covered in leaves and dirt and positively beaming.

Jon took her hand again and helped her around the erupted roots. “Let’s go see Uncle Ned, just don’t trip again. The roots like to eat your feet sometimes.”

She babbled and beamed, finally falling into Ned’s arms and snuggling up to him.

“A habit of hers since she learned to walk,” Ned confessed to Lyanna. “Most days, I keep her with me so she doesn’t wander around searching. Especially with how far along Cat is now.”

“You’re a wild pup,” Lyanna told her, tickling her cheeks and tummy. “You silly thing. It’s not nice to scare your mother just to be with this silly man.”

Arya clapped her hands and babbled some more.

Ned sighed and stood. “Best let Cat know I’ve got her safe. Robb, let’s go find your mother.”

Lyanna stood, too. “Can we expect you in the crypts?”

“We’ll see,” Ned said. “I expect that you remember the way?”

“Could do it in the dark while blind.”

They departed at the gate to the godswood, Ned and Robb leading Arya back into the main tower while Lyanna took Jon’s hand and walked him the long way round toward the entrance to the crypts. She showed him all she could, from the library and Maester Luwin’s cages of ravens, to the broken tower, and then back around to the crypts. Ser Arthur held their lit torch aloft as they entered the gloom, winding their slow way down the steep, spiral stairs.

“All of our ruling ancestors were buried down here, my father and his father and his father, all the way back to the Kings of Winter.”

Jon had fallen very quiet as they headed down the levels, right to the one where she knew her father and brother’s crypts had been set. They’d had no bodies thanks to Aerys, but Ned had still made them places to rest. She’d not seen them since their deaths. Had not been home to visit their statues and empty crypts.

“Why’ve they all got swords?” Jon’s voice shook. He clung to her skirts, gazing around in the semi-darkness as she led him through the stone men. 

“They were lords of Winterfell,” Lyanna told him. “See the wolves at their sides? All of them ruled this castle when they lived. Some day, Uncle Ned will rest here, too, and then Robb a long, long time after him.”

He didn’t seem to understand that as he clutched at her hip. “Will we?”

It was a curious question, one Lyanna only had a partial answer for. “As a Targaryen, you won’t be placed here. And I will never rule Winterfell.”

“But you’re a Stark.”

“Yes, but I’m not a lord.” 

They’d reached the end of the stone men, empty crypts stretching before them in the flickering dome of firelight. Her father’s stone likeness loomed up from the darkness, frowning and stern and very much like the man Ned was becoming in his features. Beside him, however, Brandon was almost too handsome. He’d taken very much after their mother, just as she did.

“This is your grandfather Rickard, love,” Lyanna told Jon. “And my brother, your uncle, Brandon. They both died during the war, just before you were born.”

Jon didn’t seem to know what to say or do. His eyes were black as pitch in the flickering firelight. Lyanna kept one hand on his back for comfort, as she took Ser Arthur’s torch and lit those around her father and brother. 

_ It’s my fault you’re here; if not for me, you’d be up in the yard, ruling like you were meant to do. _

Whatever had remained of Rickard and Brandon after Aerys’s absurd attempt at justice, it had not been sent north to Winterfell. Not even Ned and Rhaegar had found any remains to be buried here. Learning what had happened in the hours after she’d given birth to Jon—that it was in her name that Brandon had recklessly charged south—was not something she could ever forgive herself for. No more than she could forgive Rhaegar for keeping it secret from her all those months.

And her father…

_ I’m sorry, Father, for the grief I caused you. I thought it love, but that’s no excuse. _

At her side, Jon was shivering despite the warmth of the underground halls.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, nothing can hurt you down here. They’re at peace now.”

“But what about the ghosts?”

Lyanna smiled softly. “There’s no such thing, Jon. When people die, they’re here no more.”

He shook his head, staring around at the rows of stone men and wolves.

“They’re coming back for us,” Jon whispered. “All of them.”

Even when she asked, Jon wouldn’t say anything more. And perhaps it was just confusion and fear of such a new place working its way out of Jon in the only words he had. Perhaps, it was simply Jon trying to understand the eeriness of the crypts, but Lyanna knew better. With her son’s dreams such as they were, she didn’t doubt his words meant more than he could explain right now.

Once they were back on the surface, Jon’s eyes lingered on the crypts, still dark and nervous. There was an edge to his gaze not unlike in the aftermath of his nightmares.

“You okay, love?”

Jon nodded, distracted.

“Nothing you want to talk about with me?”

He shook his head again, more alert and strong. “No, Mama, I’m not big enough yet.”

And that was all she got from him. Lyanna took him to the glass gardens, where he insisted on cutting a few winter roses to send south. She tried to remind him they likely wouldn’t survive so far down south, if they made it to the capitol, but Jon wouldn’t listen.

“Aegon and Dany will love them no matter what, Mother.”

She stilled at the word, missing a step as they crossed the training yard. Robb was whacking away under Ser Rodrik’s watchful eye. Her nephew spotted Jon and came running.

“Jon, Jon, let’s practice together!”

He glanced up at her for permission, then grinned when he got it. Very carefully, Jon handed her the rose cuttings and he was off, happy and bright as could be once more. The constant ebb and flow of his moods and night terrors chilled her like nothing else could. One moment he was a normal, energetic six-year-old, and the next…

_ Give us more days like this, old gods, _ she wished silently.  _ Give him friendship and good times with whatever bad awaits. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ned is next. I debated for a while on either him or Jon, buuut we're going to nudge a lil Ned into the North. He likely won't be a frequent POV, but he'll have his uses on occasion.
> 
> Ned will be next week, Jon the week after, and then very likely another off week. This guy's getting 3 of 4 impacted wisdom teeth ripped out, so I will be hating life and missing good food for a bit of time. The 4th tooth is staying in since it is being buddies with one of my important face nerves lol soooooo it's an asshole, but I'll be off work, sleeping that off, eating... soup forever? And hoping my face doesn't bruise and/or swell since my mouth is tiny and angry.
> 
> Anyway, update, update, break is likely.
> 
> Stay safe until next week, wear a fucking mask, shout at some feds or cops, do good, etc.
> 
> Tootles!


	9. EDDARD I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Stark is born, Ned and Lyanna have a chat, and a decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Tuesday, another updaaaate!
> 
> It's Ned this time around. He's likely be a rare POV, but no time like Winterfell to give him an introduction.
> 
> Enjoy!

Brandon Stark was born at the hour of the wolf. 

Ned had been just outside the room, pacing anxiously as his lady wife birthed the boy, wringing his hands as Maester Luwin, the septa, and his sister stayed inside to help. Every second was nerve-racking, listening to her yells and screams, the gasp that preceded a long silence. And then his newest son was balling for all the world to hear. He’d not been allowed in. Not for Sansa or Arya either, and for Robb he’d been on the other side of the realm, ending a war that needn’t have ever occurred. As much as Catelyn loved him now, she’d insisted he be outside as was proper.

_ He looks like Robb _ .

And his tiny new son did, blinking confused sleepy blue eyes at him, little sprouts of brownish-red hair already atop his head. Catelyn had seemed disappointed for just a moment at another child with her coloring, but Ned couldn’t care less how he looked. Bran was healthy and perfect and finally here. In his arms, Bran weighed little more than air, was calm and warm as he walked the length of the sitting room attached to his wife’s birthing chamber.

“We’ll let your Mother sleep, son,” he told Bran, who was very much doing the same. “What do you say to meeting your brother and cousin? Jon’s excited to see a baby, but you know, Robb. He’s seen enough of little ones like you.”

The door behind them creaked open. Lyanna joined him in the sitting room, exhausted but smiling as she caught sight of him and Bran. Ned couldn’t stop grinning, even when her teasing started.

“Already ready to go for another, aren’t you?” Lyanna swatted his arm gently, then leaned in to see Bran. “Red as his hair.”

“He’s only a few hours old,” Ned said, quite defensive of his son’s current complexion. “I recalled you were quite ugly when Father introduced us the day you were born.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes and gave Bran a soft kiss on his head. She glanced at the window, slowly turning from pitch to gray. Morning had arrived, the frost coating the glass in wavering lines.

“I should go check on Jon,” she said, her happiness fading from her eyes. “Make sure he hasn’t terrified Robb with any nightmares.”

“He was fine an hour past,” Ned reminded her. He’d sat up there with the boys, just in case, until he couldn’t stand waiting out of sight  _ and _ hearing anymore. “Best wake them both, anyway. We did promise Jon we’d wake them once Bran was born.”

Lyanna brightened some at that. She’d been completely smitten with Jon’s reaction to Cat’s pregnancy.

“I think we’re just lucky he didn’t sneak his way into the birthing chamber. I am not quite ready to explain that to him.”

“No more than he likely is to take an interest.”

Lyanna kissed his cheek, then left to go fetch the boys. Ned went back to pacing, rocking tiny Bran in his arms, memorizing every eyelash and frown and squinty expression as he slept. He heard them arrive before he saw them. One of them was running down the stairs, tiny boots clapping loudly on the stone.

“Which room, Mama?”

“The next door, love.”

Jon burst inside, beaming and rumpled from sleep, half-dressed in day and night clothes, his boots half-tied.

“Is that him?”

Jon rushed over as Lyanna led Robb in. His older son was grumpy and half-asleep, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

“It’s just a baby,” Robb muttered.

But Jon was delighted, so curious he couldn’t keep still. Lyanna shut the door.

“Come sit down here, love.”

Jon did so at once, taking a seat in an armchair beside the blazing fire. Robb, meanwhile, had slumped face first onto the couch and gone back to sleep. Ned wasn’t the least bit surprised. Even with Arya’s birth, Robb had not been particularly impressed.

“This is Brandon,” Ned said to Jon. “Bran for short. You want to hold him?”

Jon nodded and stuck his arms out at odd angles. “Like this?”

“Not quite,” Lyanna said, laughing slightly. She adjusted his arms closer to his body. “You must be very careful with him, Jon. He’s only just been born and he can’t do much for himself yet. Hold his head up, see how Uncle Ned is? That part is very important.”

His nephew was more awed than frightened when Ned arranged the baby in his arms. Bran squirmed a bit at being jostled before he settled back to sleep.

“He’s so little,” Jon said in amazement. “I thought he’d be as big as her belly, Mama.”

“No, he’d never find his way out if he was that big.” She scooped her hand under Jon’s where it supported Bran’s tiny head. “Bellies mostly get so big because all your other insides need space, too. Like your stomach and heart and—”

“Lungs?”

She kissed Jon’s forehead. “Right. What do you think, love?”

Jon stared down at the baby, contemplative, quiet. He took his time in answering and it was a trait Ned recognized from his few encounters with King Rhaegar. Most recently when they’d joined together to put down the Greyjoy Rebellion.

_ His Father’s son in his own hidden way, whatever Lyanna’s insistent on. _

And she’d been quite vocal about Jon’s similarities to herself in all of her letters over the years. One look at his face and it was plain to see that Jon was her son. Every feature was hers, his nose and chin and eyebrows, his dark curly hair, even the gray of his eyes, though they were a darker hue like the king’s.

But in less than a fortnight, Ned had begun to piece together those bits of Rhaegar that lived on in his nephew. Given the chance, those likenesses were easy to spot as well.

“Will I have a baby one day, Mama? With a big belly and everything?”

Ned smiled a bit at Jon carefully piecing life together. Robb had the advantage there after watching his lady mother grow and birth three siblings. For Jon, every second at Winterfell brought some wondrously new excitement or idea.

“No, Jon,” Ned told him. “One day, you’ll be a man grown. If you take a wife, her belly will grow, not yours, if you have a child together.”

“Oh.” Jon gazed down at Bran once more, biting his lip before turning to his mother. “Are you and Father going to have a baby then? Do I get to be a big brother like Robb is?”

His sister hesitated. “We have no plans for more babies, Jon.”

“Because you don’t like each other anymore? Even though you’re husband and wife?”

“Jon, your father and I… we both love you very much.”

Jon nodded in a way Ned recognized. It was the same nods Lyanna had once given their father when she’d wanted to learn the sword and Rickard had deflected her elsewhere. A nod of a quiet, yet false, acceptance that was truly the beginnings of defiance. He couldn’t say where it might lead Jon, but he’d heard enough questions and comments from Jon in the last two weeks to worry about how Lyanna’s relationship with Rhaegar was impacting the boy. 

Jon rocked Bran as he began to fuss. It seemed to be instinct for him, to try to soothe his tiny cousin and within seconds Bran had quieted, though Ned recognized the signs of a hungry newborn. He gave Jon another moment, then scooped Bran into his arms and returned him to Catelyn. She was dozing in her bed, Maester Luwin still present in the aftermath as a precaution, but she stirred when Bran gave an upset whimper.

“Someone’s hungry,” Ned told her, and Cat accepted Bran gladly into her arms and slowly coaxed him to her breast until he latched. “Jon’s completely fascinated by him.”

She gave him a tired smile. “I knew he would be, so many years without knowing birth and babies.”

A slight coldness lingered in her words, but right then, Ned didn’t care to argue over his sister’s marriage nor choices. It was not his place to decide if Jon remained her only child. Nor was it Catelyn’s, but Ned was sure at some point she would push the topic during Lyanna and Jon’s stay.

Back in the sitting room, Robb had been covered with a blanket, but Jon was wide awake still, now sitting on the floor with his back to his mother’s shins where she sat in the armchair. Tea and bread had been brought, Jon ripping the small loaf to bits as he chewed and swallowed huge chunks.

“So it happens the same way?  _ Every _ time?” Jon was asking.

Lyanna played with a few of his curls. “Yes, Jon, if a man’s seed takes root.”

“And they’ve got to be grown before they have babies or wed?”

“Yes.”

“When am I grown? How do I know?”

Lyanna gave his little curls a tug until he leaned his head back to smile up at her.

“What are you truly trying to ask?”

And before Jon answered, Ned already knew. His nephew’s obsession was clear—as obvious as Daenerys’s was based on the two dozen letters she’d written so far. Jon had spent an entire day replying to each one, then his siblings and grandmother. To be fair to Daenerys at least, it wasn’t such a surprise she’d written so many with how big her hand still was. One letter turned out to be only a few sentences scrawled across the entire piece of parchment.

“Do I get to pick my wife?” And before either of them could even begin to explain, Jon continued, “I want it to be Dany, I think, but if we can’t til we’re grown, then we gotta know when that is. Cause if we’re married, Mama, then we’re together always. It’s gotta be that way.”

“When the cold comes, you mean?”

Every glowing bit of excitement bled out of his expression. Jon turned his head down to his tea, glowering at it instead of answering. Lyanna didn’t push, and Ned didn’t quite know where to begin yet with his nephew’s dreams. His attachment toward Daenerys was troubling—a boy of six so insistent and set on a girl was usually not a great sign. But with Daenerys’s preference toward Jon as well, perhaps there was a solution in that.

Lyanna waited a few minutes to see if he’d answer, but when he didn’t she leaned over and kissed the top of his head.

“As a prince, it’ll be your father’s decision whom you marry, Jon.” She continued to run her fingers through his hair even as Jon stilled. “For high-borns, marriage is more than simply a man and a woman deciding on each other. It’s what’s best for the realm, too.”

Ned watched him closely at those words; the conflict and the struggle and ultimately the stubbornness that settled into the jut of his chin. Jon was resilient already; as strong as his mother had ever been at that age.

“That’s okay then,” Jon told them. “Me and Dany together is what’s best for everyone, so he’ll pick us for each other, same as we’ve picked each other.”

Every word was said with such certainty. Ned only hoped, in the proceeding years his nephew’s beliefs did not fall to ash. Based on the king he’d met half a year past, it seemed unlikely.

_ I’ve been considering a Northern bride for Jon when the time comes. While he fosters at Winterfell, it would be prudent if potential girls were to visit, discussions had with their fathers, grandfathers. _

That had been before the king had decided to fraction Jon’s years between Winterfell and the south.

Ned had not broached the topic with Lyanna yet, but he had no doubts Lord Manderly had been five steps above obvious. The older man was rarely subtle, and with two young granddaughters Ned had been waiting for those pushes to begin for Robb, at the very least. As for Jon, the boy he’d come to know in the last moon would never agree to another bride. His entire view of the future circled around Daenerys.

* * *

Ned spent the rest of the day rotating between his family and his duties. Catelyn and Bran slept, Sansa kept close to Lyanna, and Arya had latched onto Jon since the moment they’d met. In some ways, it was a relief for Ned, not having to navigate keeping her in check and in sight while talking with his men or visiting lords. Jon adored her, showed her how to walk better and dance and even the best way to pick flowers. Already, she’d come to Ned twice in the afternoons, caked in dirt with a handful of flowers trailing their roots and earth. A present for him, Jon explained, because all Arya said was, “No!” while giggling.

As evening approached, blustery and warm, Ned could see his three oldest in the yard with Jon and Lyanna. The boys were padded up for sparring, Sansa watching politely while Arya shrieked and clapped her hands. Lyanna had to hold her tight to keep her from the yard.

“Silly, they’ll knock all your new teeth out if you interrupt,” Lyanna was telling his daughter as the wooden clack of Robb and Jon’s swords filled the yard. “When you’re big enough, I’ll make sure to teach you, and I’m sure your favorite Jon will help.”

“Jon! Jon!” Arya clapped her hands, reaching for him. The new word wasn’t wholly surprising to Ned. Jon had been trying to teach her his name almost since he’d arrived.

Her voice was enough to distract Jon. With one good swipe, Robb knocked Jon on his ass, laughing and cheering.

“I got you! I finally beat you!”

The friendly competition was nice to see. His new ward, Theon, sparred rarely, but he was too big to fight with Robb right now. Jon was the perfect size, age, and skill level.

Jon winced as he got to his feet, rubbing his bottom. “Only because of Arya,” he muttered sulkily. “She finally said my name.”

In moments, they were smiles and laughter again as Arya was released to wobble her way toward them. Already, her legs were growing stronger. Ned was certain she’d be running before Bran could even hold his head up. 

“Eventful day?” Ned asked Lyanna. He took the seat beside her and scooped Sansa up into his lap, giving her a few kisses and offering a flower he’d brought from the glass gardens. She was delighted by it as usual—unlike Arya who’d been gifted a flower once by him, and promptly ate it.

“Lessons and sparring,” Lyanna told him. “We spent some time in the godswood, and Sansa learned her first stitch today with the septa.”

“Is that right?”

Sansa nodded and smiled up at him. “I did it, Fasser.”

“Your mother will be so pleased to hear it.”

And Catelyn was when he had dinner with her in her chambers that evening, Bran in the bassinet beside the bed. She delighted to hear all about the childrens’ day from Robb’s sparring success to Sansa’s first stitch, even to Arya’s new word. She was all he could have asked for in a mother for his children. Gentle and caring and kind to each of them. Their love had grown from patience and time, and he was grateful it had. 

Lyanna joined them after she’d settled the other four, looking exhausted once more, but relieved.

“Jon was out as soon as his head hit the pillow,” she said. “The girls were easy, too. Robb demanded Old Nan tell him a dozen stories but he was asleep when I left his chambers. How are you? And Bran?”

Catelyn reached a hand toward the bassinet, smiling softly.

“Tired still, but delighted. Another son. I’d hoped Robb could have a brother some day.”

Lyanna went over to admire her nephew. “He is wonderful. I’d forgotten just how small they are when born. Some days, Jon seems just a baby in my arms still, and others he’s as heavy as a horse.”

Catelyn nodded, accepted Bran as Lyanna handed him to her. “Perhaps, you’ll have another soon. A brother for Jon, a cousin of Bran’s age. One day, Bran could foster in King’s Landing with him.”

Lyanna shook her head, unfazed. “Jon is enough for me.”

“Surely, His Grace—”

“Rhaegar wanted three, and he has them.”

Catelyn seemed too tired to push further, but the spark had been lit. Seven years apart, but Ned could still recognize his sister’s temper rising like a horse rearing. They left Catelyn for the night, Ned following his sister up to her chambers as an escort, but as soon as she was inside, Lyanna glared at him.

“I suppose you put her up to that nonsense,” she snapped at him. “Pushing me to-to—”

“Do a wife’s duty to her husband?” Ned supplied. He was surprised she managed to restrain herself from slapping him. The sister he’d known would not have. “I put Cat up to nothing, Lya. How many nephews and nieces I have is not my decision. If Jon is it, then I am happy to have him.”

“And happy to have me as well—the sham queen of the North?”

Her voice had never sounded so small. Lyanna sank onto her bed, tired and fuming still, but it seemed more at herself than Catelyn’s hints.

“You’re not a sham, Lya. You’re just…”

He couldn’t find the right words in time. His mind had never been quite as quick as hers.

“The wife of an already married man,” she said. “I thought so little of it at the time, you know that? Just a stupid girl. Here was this beautiful, kind prince offering me a chance at a future I could enjoy and so much of it was a lie. I was some foolish maid in a story, only the story wasn’t happening like the narratives I knew. And Jon… how do I give him what’s best, knowing the position I’ve put him in since birth? Why does he have to carry the burden of my choices?”

Ned took a seat beside her. “A prince will be given little less than the best,” he reminded her. “I’m certain between you and Rhaegar, he’ll want for nothing.”

She snorted. “Rhaegar hasn’t a clue. Jon likes you better than him already, and it’s no surprise, how little Rhaegar sees him.”

Ned hesitated, but it was no good to keep his silence. A few weeks had shown him that Jon’s views of his parents’ marriage, and Rhaegar in particular, were based on more than simple distance. He was a smart boy, his eyes picking up far too much already.

“Perhaps Jon seems to like me more because he sees how clearly you care for me.”

Silence greeted his observation. He wouldn’t take it back even if it brought her to a rage or tears. She seemed like she needed to hear that truth. And perhaps she had from Rhaella or someone else in the south, but they weren’t family like he was. His words, he was certain, held far more weight with his sister than anyone else.

“Rhaegar and I,” Lyanna stopped, bristling defensively. “It’s complicated.”

He nodded. “I know. Your letters have said as much as you could, and when Rhaegar was north at Pyke, I felt the hints, too. Seeing Jon, hearing some of the things he says and asks, it’s pretty clear that whatever complications exist are as much Jon’s as yours and Rhaegar’s.”

She didn’t dispute him, but she didn’t seem to like his assessment either.

“All we do is fight, Ned. Whenever he bothers to visit, we argue and yell. There’s never a civil word between us anymore, and this last time, Jon… he was just in the other room, sleeping. When he heard us, he came out and tried to defend me, hit his father to get him to stop yelling—as if I wasn’t yelling, too.”

“He knows you best,” Ned said. “Of course he picks you when forced to do so. You may not want my advice, but I’ll say it nevertheless. What’s best for Jon is that you both stop forcing him between you. Intended or not, it sounds as if that’s what it’s become. You’ve married a king, Lya. That cannot be undone nor changed. Making peace with your mistakes and where they’d led your life might give you peace with Rhaegar. 

“Not love or more children,” he added at the scowl that filled her expression, “but there are many ways to be a husband and wife, Lya. Cat and I made Robb in a rush of war, and when I returned home, she was little more than a stranger who’d bore me a son. It took time to build what we have now, but the time was worth it. For Robb and Sansa and Arya, and now Bran, too. If you cannot love him as a man, at least strive to love him as a companion and your son’s father. For Jon’s sake, if nothing else.”

She accepted a cheek kiss goodnight, and Ned left her with her thoughts. Lyanna was smart enough to see it, when laid out for her. Ned only hoped her temper had matured enough to be reined in. Jon’s path in life, his relationships with his father, and even his brother, likely hinged on Lyanna making peace with herself. And moreso, transferring that peace to her and Rhaegar.

* * *

With every week that passed, Jon’s comfort within Winterfell grew. 

Ned spent more time with him and Robb after Bran was born and Catelyn was back on her feet. He kept them with him as he met with Winterfell’s armorer, Maester Luwin, Lord Cerwyn and all the rest. Each day was a new lesson. Both boys seemed enthralled as they watched him rule, how he managed every man and castlemaid, and ate with a different man at his table each night.

Before he’d realized it, Jon and Lyanna had been with them for three moons. Arya was now running, Bran was laughing and giggling all the time. And Jon’s nightmares, so vivid and wild at first, had seemed to fade with every league and day between him and Dragonstone. Ned and Lyanna spoke of it often in the evenings, with relief and trepidation. She was convinced they would return one day—as they had before.

“Never for so long,” she told him, when he’d asked if they’d gone quiet before. “But there were weeks at a time when they had none. The whole castle seemed to sleep better, knowing Jon and Dany weren’t upset.”

Ned hoped it was Winterfell giving a peaceful sleep to his nephew. Or perhaps the old gods, with Jon finally in their reach. Jon spent hours at a time roaming the gloom of the trees, sometimes with Robb, but usually just with Arya trailing after him. Most mornings, Ned found them already in there, seated between the weirwood as Jon read his latest book to her.

The letter came at the fourth new moon since their arrival, buried amongst all of Jon’s ravens from Daenerys. Despite the distance, the two’s correspondence had not lessened. Ned had been eager for an answer from his brother, and though he was somewhat disappointed, it would lend a good opportunity for the boys nevertheless. He found them both being dried in the bathing chamber by their mothers, fighting their yawns before bed.

“But Mother, we want a story,” Robb was insisting, his words punctuated by several yawns as he was dressed in his sleeping clothes. “Old Nan tells the  _ best _ stories.”

“Well Old Nan is sleeping already, just as you both are about to be,” Lyanna argued. Jon dressed himself with only a nudge, rubbing his eyes. “Come on, loves, bed early tonight, and perhaps Old Nan can tell you stories in the morning.”

Robb pouted but didn’t argue—not until he spotted Ned.

“Father, Father, can we  _ please _ have a story?”

Ned shook his head, hoisting Robb into his arms. “I’ve got something even better. Your Uncle Benjen sent a raven from the Wall.”

“Benjen?” Lyanna’s face lit up. She’d been hoping to see their younger brother while at Winterfell, but half their visit was already gone. “Is he coming south?”

“No,” Ned said, unsurprised at her obvious disappointment. “He’s just returning from a ranging, but he’s offered to host us for a visit.”

Robb almost leapt out of his arms. “We’re going to the Wall? The really,  _ really _ tall one?”

Ned let him down instead of trying to hold a squirming seven-year-old. Robb danced about in excitement, jumping all about.

“We’ll see, Robb. This isn’t a decision to make abruptly. Journeying to the Wall is a long trek.” Ned turned to Lyanna and Jon. He saw the same excitement in his sister’s gaze, but Jon’s dark eyes were troubled. “What do you think, Jon? If we go, that’ll be the last few moons of your visit to the North.”

Jon worried his lip, glanced at Robb’s continued bouncing. “The real Wall? That’s hundreds of feet high, that holds back the, um…”

For just a moment, Ned saw a glimpse of nightmares in his gaze. It was something he’d wondered about for a long time now. The Long Night had happened once, thousands of years before, and the Wall erected by magic so ancient it was now lost. Yet, it was still here, a symbol of a lost age, and however much else. Now, it served to keep wildlings where they belonged, but still he wondered, with what little they’d grasped of Jon’s dreams, if something more might be upon the horizon, just out of sight.

“We can always save that visit for next year when you return,” he told his nephew.

And Jon still hesitated, but Ned was glad to see that Lyanna didn’t step in to answer for him. He’d been doing his best to teach Jon to make decisions without her approval or disapproval. As a prince, and one day a lord of his own keep, he would be expected to lead on his own.

“Jon?”

His nephew frowned, but straightened a bit. “We should go. Uncle Benjen wants to see us, and if he can’t come here, then we can go to him.”

“Very well,” Ned said as Robb shouted in joy. “Tomorrow, we’ll send a raven to Benjen and begin preparations for the journey. I expect both of you boys to be respectful, disciplined, and ready to accept whatever tasks I ask of you.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Yes, Uncle Ned.”

He nodded toward the door, trying not to smile as the pair raced into the hall toward the stairs and their chambers, talking loudly about their new adventure. Catelyn and Lyanna stayed with him.

“Will you take Sansa as well?” his wife asked.

“No, she’s too young right now and can’t sit her pony so long,” Ned said. “The girls will stay with you and Bran.”

Catelyn nodded, seemed relieved. Lyanna was fighting a smile as they followed after the boys.

“Perhaps, we’ll catch a ship at Eastwatch to return south,” Lyanna mused. “Summer is still blazing, so the worst storms haven’t started yet. We could stop by Dragonstone on our way to King’s Landing.”

Ned nodded. “We’ll send a raven to His Grace, informing him on our trip. And ravens to Last Hearth, too. It’ll be good for Robb and Jon to see more of the North.”

And he hoped it was, and perhaps, whatever mystery still brought nightmares to his nephew’s eyes might be solved once and for all at the edge of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Off to the Wall we go! Jon's going to visit some uncles of his, and see what all there is to be seen, meet all those to be met, etc.
> 
> Next up is Jon! After that, I'll be taking a week break while I get my wisdom teeth removed/recover from that mess, and then we'll be back with King's Landing as our setting. Rhaella? Elia? Rhaegar? Someone else? I can't remember and my notes are upstairs, so it's going to remain a surprise for now, haha.
> 
> Stay safe, wear your fucking masks, and I will see you next time around!
> 
> Oh. And I may have a silly lil modern AU short in the mix on that off week. We'll see if I manage to focus on it while writing Jon's POV. But it'll be stupid cute and fun and probs a bit more than spicy.
> 
> Tootles!


	10. JON II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon learns about the king's justice and meets his uncles in the far north.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Later than usual, but it's still Tuesday somewhere, right?
> 
> Enjoy!

The road north of Winterfell was more desolate than Jon had imagined. 

Even surrounded by family and guards, he’d never felt so alone. His mother rode beside him on a speckled gray mare, Ser Arthur to her right on his tall stallion. Uncle Ned was a few paces ahead on a snow white palfrey, speaking with one of the men. It was a habit his uncle had, one he’d made a point to explain to Jon and Robb over the past few months. Keeping close with each man, eating with them, listening to their concerns made it easier to lead them.

_ Father never does that on Dragonstone. _

As best Jon could remember, his mother and grandmother didn’t dine with any of the maids or guards either. He’d never seen any lord do as his uncle did. But then, he’d only ever seen his father rule for sparse moments on Dragonstone.

Robb galloped into sight beside him, laughing as snowflakes freckled his hair. His cousin had been all over the place since they’d left camp that morning.

“Come on, let’s race!”

Robb was a constant source of challenge, but it was a fun sort of competition that Jon was growing to enjoy. Dany wasn’t like that, and Aegon hadn’t been either, but Rhaenys had almost always been too much. Competition to her was a chance to win. With Robb, it was just for fun.

“To the next hill?” Jon asked, as they trotted their ponies a few paces away from their parents, trying to be discreet. They’d already been lectured four times yesterday not to gallop off alone. His gray pony seemed to be enjoying himself. Steel never got the chance to run at Winterfell like he had on Dragonstone. When Jon glanced over, his mother was deep in thought as she admired the scenery, but Ser Arthur’s violet eyes were locked on him. 

Jon leaned in toward Robb and whispered, “I bet you my circlet that Ser Arthur can’t beat me to the hill.”

Robb grinned, giving the gleaming white armored knight a contemplative look. That was a new word for Jon, another one tossed into a raven from Rhaenys. This time, he’d recognized it for being wrongly placed without any help. Mama had been very proud of that.

“You’re on.”

They counted off under their breath, the air misting in their faces as they guided their ponies off to the side of the column. 

“Go!”

Robb alerted the rest to their intentions with a swell of robust laughter, but Jon kept silent, urging his pony forward toward the crest of the hill. Ser Arthur was quick, but not quick enough. He blocked Robb with his stallion, but Jon slipped past, the knight’s gloved hand just sliding over his elbow. Jon laughed as he rode hard, his little legs just strong enough to support him as he stood slightly in his staddle. As he galloped up the hillside, he heard hoof beats behind him, closing fast.

His mother reached him just as his pony crested the hill.

“One more race and you’ll be in the wagon for the rest of our journey.”

She reached over and took the reins from his grasp, pulling him off the muddy trail to wait for the rest of their group to join them. Jon scowled as his cousin approached, reined in by his father.

“You got caught!”

“By Mother, not Ser Arthur, so I still win,” Jon told him. 

Uncle Ned gave them both a look, letting the column continue north as they stopped on the hill top.

“You’ll walk if you do that again,” he told them, stern and solemn, but he was still nice so far as Jon saw. “When you’re older, perhaps, but right now, you’re both to stay close to us. These are wild lands. Wildlings or deserters could be anywhere near us.”

“I thought the Wall kept the wildlings out,” Robb said. 

“Walls can only do so much.” Jon frowned as his uncle and mother gave him uncertain looks. More and more, Jon felt like they were both avoiding some sort of conversation with him, one he couldn’t give name to yet. “It’s true though,” he added. “It’s why people can take other people’s castles.”

Uncle Ned gave a short nod. “Stay with us, Robb, Jon. I won’t warn you again.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Yes, Uncle.”

Jon hadn’t tested his uncle so far, but he’d seen Robb do so and knew it wasn’t worth it to argue. Challenging his uncle meant challenging a big lord. As the five of them spurred their horses back to their column, Lyanna took Robb’s reins and led him to the front. Uncle Ned kept Jon at his side, so close his uncle’s knee knocked against his saddle. Ser Arthur settled in on Jon’s other side, looking more exasperated than he ever had on Dragonstone.

“Your mother would have my head herself if anything happened to you, my Prince,” Ser Arthur reminded him. “Stay close.”

Jon nodded, his rush of racing excitement fading. Guilt filled him. Racing was fun, but everyone here wanted to protect him and Robb. Mother had said that was why they were so many. For his safety, as a prince, as his father’s son. Aegon was the heir, he knew, but Jon was next after him until his brother had sons of his own.

Above his head, Ser Arthur and Uncle Ned exchanged one of their weird looks where they talked with their eyes. He didn’t quite understand what they said, but Jon knew he was always the topic. On his right, Ser Arthur slowed, fading a few paces behind Jon.

“The road north is a long one,” his uncle told him. “After Last Hearth, we’ll sleep only in camps. There are no holdfasts anymore between there and the Wall.”

Jon nodded. “The Wall has, um, nineteen castles. That’s what Maester Luwin says. And Old Nan, too, about the Nightfort and the Night’s King.”

Uncle Ned almost smiled. He was like Father in that way, his smiles short and rare, but his frowns didn’t make Jon feel bad. Only Rhaegar’s did that, and sometimes Dany’s when he’d made her sad unintentionally. A sick feeling wiggled around in his stomach as he thought of her. They’d written loads of letters back and forth for months now, and each one hurt as much as it soothed.

“Nineteen is true, but only three are manned now. The Nightfort is no longer maintained. Old Nan is full of tales, Jon,” Uncle Ned said. “Best to not take her too literally with her stories.”

“She told us about shadowcats before we left.” Jon waved his arms like he had big claws and growled. “They’ll rip you up and eat you if you’re not careful.”

“Aye, they will, lad.” His uncle considered him for a moment. “We had a raven this morning, Jon, from a holdfast on our way north. I’d like you and Robb to accompany me to serve the king’s justice.”

“Father’s justice?”

Ned nodded. “Yes, your father cannot be everywhere at once, and so it is his lords’ duty to stand in his place. Someday, it will be your duty as well. You’ll serve justice in the king’s name, uphold his laws and, I hope, you’ll do so the northern way.”

Jon sat up taller in his saddle, beaming. “I can do that! I like the North and the snow is great! Dany’s going to love it when she sees it. Mama said I could try to bring some with us, but that it’ll all melt before we arrive.”

But his uncle didn’t return his smile. Jon’s stomach sank at the look, one he’d come to understand meant the moment was serious entirely. Uncle Ned usually was.

“What sort of justice, Uncle Ned?”

“An oathbreaker, a deserter from the Night’s Watch.” And his uncle’s solemn voice turned hard as iron. “He swore a vow, Jon, and broke it. Punishment for desertion is death.”

Jon shivered at those words. He understood what it meant, much better now after being at Winterfell for many moons. They’d gone on hunts in the wolfswood, and Jon had learned how to skin rabbits and even watch as his uncle did the same to a doe. Uncle Ned had walked him through the crypts, just like Mama, and told him of the dead men. Every flicker of torch light had made Jon certain their ghosts were streaming out of their tombs, like water overflowing a dam.

He dreamt of their eerie stillness some nights, but in his dreams, the crypts weren’t quiet or still. Something was always stirring, just out of his sight.

“Will he stay dead?”

That earned him a funny glance. “Of course,” Uncle Ned told him. “Ice is Valyrian steel, Jon. Nothing is so sharp as that.”

He’d seen his uncle’s ancestral sword, the darker steel whirled and formed with some greater magic long past. Only together had he and Robb been able to lift it. But Jon couldn’t quite picture what his uncle meant by death being over. His dreams showed him quite the opposite. Maybe Uncle Ned didn’t know that yet, about the gleaming blue eyes, or dead, blackened hands. It seemed a terrible surprise to those hidden in the snow around him while he slept. When he’d first learned the greatsword’s name, he actually thought it was one of  _ theirs _ .

They rode on to midday, stopping just as his uncle had said at a small holdfast not far from the main road. Jon kept to Ser Arthur’s side, glanced back at his mother who remained at the gate with the wagons and most of the guards.

“Isn’t Mama coming?”

But Uncle Ned only shook his head. Robb’s face was stone, too, and Jon didn’t understand why until they reached the yard and he and Robb dismounted and led their ponies to the far side together.

“You must watch,” Robb told him. “Father’s going to sentence him and serve the king’s justice.”

Even then, Jon didn’t quite understand. A man in black was brought forth, his hands bound in chains. His uncle spoke briefly to the ragged man, then nodded at the two guards escorting the prisoner. The man in black was forced to his knees before a great tree stump, his head thrusted forward over the oddly red wood. At once, he began to sob and blubber streams of words too jumbled for Jon to sort out. But his terror was like a poison in the air. Jon’s insides squirmed.

Robb caught his pony’s reins, and Jon followed suit. The man would die now. That much he understood, but it wasn’t until his uncle unsheathed the greatsword and bowed his head that Jon realized what it meant.

“In the name of Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, the First of his Name, King of the Andels and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die.”

As his uncle raised the greatsword high, a great shiver ran through Jon—a thrill of fear and warning. He’d jerked his gaze away before he could stop himself. But he heard the sharp swish and thud of the sword cutting clean through. Blood sprayed the ground where his eyes had fallen, gleaming red for a moment before seeping into the damp mud. A squelchy thump followed as the dead man’s head hit the ground. From the corner of his eye, Jon could see the body jerking, the way the head’s hair caught the wind as it rolled to a stop.

Jon swallowed as his pony reared in fright. He managed to keep him in hand at least, but it was a near thing.

He took a deep breath before looking, expecting the worst.

But when he found the dead man’s eyes, they were still dark and grimy. His body’s hands weren’t turning black like a fire had burned his skin to crisp.

It was over as quick as it had begun. Somehow, the stop had almost been unnecessary, Jon realized as they mounted their horses and returned to the road. Mama looked as if she wanted to come over to him, but when Uncle Ned’s large, rough hand grasped his shoulder, she didn’t.

“You looked away.”

Somehow, Uncle Ned always knew. Jon hadn’t quite figured it out, but he was always caught with Ned. Whether it was not paying attention as they met with the armourer at Winterfell, or during a lesson with Maester Luwin, Uncle Ned always found them out.

Jon nodded, ashamed. “Robb didn’t.”

“No,” Uncle Ned agreed. “Today was not Robb’s first time witnessing justice. His first time, his pony bolted and almost dragged him with it. Just before you arrived at Winterfell. Serving the king’s justice is an important lesson, Jon. One you must understand as you grow to manhood.”

He nodded again, shame still writhing in his belly, his thoughts turning to Dany. Would she have looked away, too? Aegon would have. Jon was certain of that, that his gentle brother would not stomach such a thing well, if their father ever took a man’s life before them.

“But why does Father’s justice mean killing that man?” Jon demanded. “It’s not good to kill people. Is it?”

For a long time, his uncle didn’t answer. They rode on toward Last Hearth in silence, Ser Arthur was still nearby, but not close enough to hear them. Jon was just getting ready to apologize for saying the words he’d spoken, when his uncle answered.

“Killing should not be a joy for a man,” Uncle Ned told him. “However, it’s a duty to keep order with our laws and the crown. Some men take pleasure in the act, I won’t lie to you, but you should not. Every time I take a man’s life I pray it was the right course. If your father is to remain a king, there must be a punishment for disobeying him and the laws he holds Westeros accountable for obeying. Do you understand?”

“Even if the law is wrong?”

His uncle’s eyes were hard. “Law is law, Jon, only the king can unmake or change such things. Whatever your lord father decides is unlawful is wrong.”

That didn’t sound right to him, but Jon didn’t argue. He couldn’t find the words to do so. Instead, he took a different angle, one he did have the words for right now.

“But I thought the man was a deserter. That he left the Night’s Watch,” Jon said, frowning. “Father’s the king of the Seven Kingdoms, not the Wall.”

“The Wall serves the realm,” was all his uncle said, and he fell into a brooding silence once more. It was a while before Uncle Ned said anything else, but he did nevertheless.

“Next time, you mustn’t look away, Jon. Whether it’s here in the North, or south at King’s Landing,” Uncle Ned told him. “Even if you’re afraid, you must watch. If you cannot face this truth, our way of life will not be kind to you.”

Jon’s stomach churned. He didn’t want to be afraid, but how could he not be when any one of those dying men might become far worse?

Uncle Ned pulled his pony to a stop alongside the road. “You must be brave, Jon, in the face of death and justice.”

“How can I do that if I’m afraid?” And his question spilled out of him before he could stop it. Embarrassed, Jon ducked his head and tried to guide his pony away, but Steel obeyed his uncle’s hand when Ned grabbed the reins.

“Jon.”

He looked up at the sternness of his uncle’s voice and met those gray eyes so oddly like his own. They weren’t as dark and deep, but they were stormy all the same.

“A man cannot be brave without fear, why else would there be a need for courage?”

Those words gave Jon plenty to think about as they journeyed into the sunset. When they reached Last Hearth at dusk, Lord Umber greeted them with his roaring voice and lots of ale. The men all eagerly went into the feast hall, his uncle included, but Mama led him and Robb elsewhere, guided by Lady Umber to their chambers for the night. Supper was brought to them.

Jon ate methodically. Beside him, Robb was as boisterous as ever, chattering and slurping his stew. They were washed and then put into a great bed together. Robb fell asleep instantly, but Jon couldn’t shut his eyes.

“How are you, love?”

His mother kissed his forehead and tickled his cheek.

“I’m fine.”

“It’s a lot the first time you see justice,” she told him. “I was older than you are now and even I struggled with it. But you understand why it had to happen?”

“He broke his vow,” Jon answered. “And Father’s justice meant he had to die.”

“And you understand why your Uncle Ned did so with his own hand?”

Jon tried to find an answer and couldn’t.

“Our way is the old way, the Northern way,” she said, echoing Uncle Ned from earlier. “In the North, the one who passes the sentence should swing the sword. And if you look that man in the eye and hear his last words, and cannot follow through, then that man is not meant to die that day.”

“Even if father’s laws say he must?”

Lyanna nodded. “Yes. There are many ways to bring justice, Jon, not simply with a sword and death.” She kissed his forehead again. “Get some sleep. We’ll be leaving early tomorrow.”

She went about the chamber putting out the candles, stoking the fire, and then she returned to the great bed with them, snuggling under the furs until it was warmer than a dragon’s maw. Jon shut his eyes and hoped for sweet dreams.

* * *

His vision was gray-white foam, swirling and screaming through the air around him. Plumes of fire rained down all around, arcing from on high. When Jon glanced behind himself, the Wall’s weight seemed to crush him.

Out here in the endless snow fields, he was hollowed out from cold and solitude. Hidden in the deep snows around him, men yelled and died and lost themselves to fear. Everything was panic, his heart like a battered war drum, the tight head trying to rupture. His sword was death in his hand. 

When he turned to the far north, the storm seemed to stall. Patches of forests appeared, one great rock jutting from the snow like an arrowhead. Some of the trees were aflame, others thick with snow. They came from the darkness between, icy prisms in the night. Each one stared at him, their voices crackling like broken ice.

“We have to retreat!” someone yelled from behind him. A familiar voice, but unfamiliar, too. Older, distant.

When Jon turned to face her the snow had vanished. Everything was warm and dark. He could not see. The world had grown tight and snug around his body, squeezing him into place. At his ear, wind whistled through scarlet leaves and life sounded from the cocoon of bark around him. 

_ Thump thump. Thump. Thump thump. _

He twisted to get free and instead tasted blood.

When he wretched, Jon was back in the snow, meeting every cut with his own sword. His body moved like it never had before. Dark steel met the ice. Every joining sang high and shrill. Valyrian steel, he recognized that look now, the light weight of the blade in hand. Like his uncle’s blade, but this was not Ice in his hand. Overhead, scarlet flame burst through the storm to find him. 

_ Dany _ . 

When he glanced skyward, he saw the edge of a great black wing—and then the blade in his hand cracked. 

_The wrong sword._ _It’s always the wrong blade._

Burning blue eyes rushed toward his face, skin of ice and rage. His sword met the next thrust and shattered—

Jon woke abruptly, jaw clenched and body taut. Around him, the room was still warm, Robb asleep before him and his mother curled behind him, cradling him against her body. He did not scream or cry out. He’d learned to stay quiet in his terror—had watched too much of his mother’s face from Dragonstone to Winterfell to not try to keep the sadness from it.

It was his fault she was sad, not Father’s, for her sadness had been carried north with them. From the ship to White Harbor to the road and Winterfell. Jon was the reason, and he was determined never to be so ever again.

Carefully, he scanned what he could see of their bedchamber. Every inch was as it had been hours before. Their clothes were folded on the table, their tray of empty plates beside it. A warm, but dwindling fire lit the grate. When he touched his face, he was still a boy.

“Jon?”

His shifting had alarmed his mother. She sat up to lean over him to view his face, concerned, anxious.

“Are you well, love?”

Jon was quick to nod, to not make her so sad or scared. She’d been so happy since they’d reached Winterfell; more happy than he’d ever seen. He didn’t want to take that from her.

“I heard a noise,” he lied, and his lack of tears seemed to calm her. “At the window.”

His mother glanced over her shoulder at their window, rubbing his side soothingly.

“Just the wind, Jon.” She kissed his forehead and smiled at him. “Being in a new castle is always a bit strange. New smells, sounds, faces.”

Something of his face must have proven unconvincing. Lyanna’s smile faded and she rolled toward the bedside table and then back with his green dragon egg. Jon latched onto it at once. But it was as cold as stone, not warm the way Dany always described. A cry of misery almost burst from his mouth, but Jon caught himself, his face tucked against the egg. For a moment, he could almost imagine it was Dany.

“Don’t you fret, little wolf. Ser Arthur is just beyond that door,” she reminded him, pointing out the dark oak door to their left. “Uncle Ned is in the chamber next to us. And I’ve been known to be decent with a sword, if need be. Nobody will hurt us. I promise.”

But Ser Arthur and Uncle Ned weren’t present in his dreams. In his dreams, he was surrounded by dead and dying men, and entirely alone.

* * *

Sleep was hard to find in the days between Last Hearth and Castle Black. Jon woke most nights, his jaw clenched tight to keep his terror locked in his belly. And he tried to lock it from his heart, too. To reassure himself that it was important to be brave now, however difficult it was. Being brave now would help make him braver when he would need it most. 

Every night when he woke, he imagined Dany was with him as he hugged his egg. That she was beside him, listening to his dreams, to all the new details he was understanding more and more. They’d not mentioned their nightmares in their letters. If he had to ask his mother to spell some of the words, she’d know his dreams were with him still. He couldn’t bear to make her so sad again. Dany would understand perfectly. But Dany wasn’t here.

Whatever her nightmares were or were not was out of his reach now.

Jon’s throat liked to close up when he thought of that. Not even letters could breach that divide his father had gifted them. Like himself, Dany didn’t write of her dreams. He took some comfort in that, knowing she agreed they were best whispered in the dark of a shared bed, not on bright parchment with messy ink.

A sennight after Last Hearth, his nightmares were driven from his mind in the excitement and awe of seeing the Wall with his own eyes for the first time. Even Robb fell silent as it came into view that afternoon. Miles away, but its enormity was like a bull sitting on Jon’s shoulders. Even at a great distance, it was beautiful and terrible.

“Should reach Castle Black in the morning,” his mother told him. She looked as awed as they were. Even Ser Arthur had stopped to stare. “Don’t stray from camp.”

He and Robb exchanged a guilty grin. Every evening as the guards and men made camp, they’d begun to sneak into the nearby wilds, to see what was there. Ser Arthur always followed, but Mother worried nevertheless.

“We won’t,” Jon told her, but all that earned him was a hard glare.

“If you’re going to lie to your mother, Jon Targaryen, you best get better at it.”

She flicked his nose tip, and their race began. After Last Hearth, his mother seemed to have decided the best way to avoid him and Robb racing off was to lead the way. Jon and Robb charged after her, laughing.

They bedded down north of Queenscrown that night. His uncle had him and Robb recite all they knew of the place, and then taught them more amongst their yawns and drooping eyelids. At dawn, they made their final trek, and despite all he’d learned of the far north, Jon was surprised to find the crumbling castle not only unguarded, but lacking walls or gates entirely to the south, west, and east. They were almost upon the castle when a rider all in black galloped out to meet them.

“About time,” the man called, his cloak billowing out behind him. “Was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”

His mother dismounted at once, running to the stranger. The man dismounted, too, and embraced her.

His Uncle Benjen was taller, gaunt, his face a little longer, and his nose bigger, too, but like Uncle Ned, Lyanna, and Jon, he had dark hair and gray eyes.

Uncle Ned had dismounted as well to embrace his brother. Then he waved Robb and Jon forward. Jon kicked his pony forward, and was promptly lifted from his saddle by Uncle Benjen.

“And this must be my nephew I’ve heard so much about. Jon, is it?”

Jon nodded as his uncle hoisted him into the air, then set him on his feet. He did the same to Robb, who laughed as he was tossed skyward before being set down.

“I hope you boys aren’t too tired,” Uncle Benjen said. “I’ve got more than enough for you to see and do today. And you,” he added to Jon, “have another uncle quite anxious to meet you.”

“Another uncle?” Jon frowned at his mother. “How many brothers do you have?”

“Not a Stark uncle,” his mother said. “Maester Aemon is a Targaryen, just like you.”

Jon’s heart leapt at that. Nobody had mentioned a second uncle to him, nor another Targaryen in the realm. Yet, when they were so few, Jon couldn’t imagine how his grandmother and father would have forgotten someone.

“Grandmother and Father haven’t spoken of him,” Jon said as other men in black arrived to lead their horses and ponies into the castle. “Did they forget about him? Is he hiding?”

Castle Black certainly seemed like the best place to do such a thing. At the edge of the world, where just breathing was like turning yourself to ice.

“No, he went to the Citadel to train as a maester when he was a boy,” Uncle Benjen explained. “Then he came here so that his brother might be king instead.”

“He let Father be king?”

His uncles and mother chuckled as they stepped into the muddy yard. Most of the guards and men had stopped just outside of the castle’s range. They began to set up small camps as Jon passed. He supposed he could understand why. From what he could see, Castle Black was small compared to Dragonstone and Winterfell. One of the towers didn’t look usable either.

“Your Uncle Aemon is much too old to be your father’s brother,” Lyanna told him.

“Older than you?”

She smiled. “About four times my age.”

Robb’s mouth fell to the ground. “But that’s  _ ancient! _ ”

“He must have been here when they made the Wall,” Jon added in amazement.

His mother frowned at him. “Just how old do you think I am?”

“Um, at least a hundred forevers,” he decided. “And Grandmother is a thousand forevers. So that makes Uncle Aemon a  _ million _ forevers.”

That earned him quite a few laughs as they entered the castle proper. Men milled all about the yard, some practicing archery, others at work with swords. A man stood among them, his golden hair almost as bright as the Wall. Against the grimmy castles and muddy yard, his hair stood out like the sun. The sight of him made Ser Arthur pause. When Jon glanced at him, his sworn shield shook his head, his eyes fixed on the other.

“Best stay away from that one, my Prince,” Ser Arthur said, but when Jon asked why he got no answer.

His mother, too, looked over at the man in the yard. He was all in black just like Uncle Benjen, and while he was handsome, he had a sour expression on his face when he noticed them.

“Jon, go with Lyanna and Benjen to see Maester Aemon,” Uncle Ned said. “Robb, we’re to see the Lord Commander first.”

Uncle Benjen led them to a smaller timber keep. Every tower had its own name. From the great King’s Tower they would be staying in, all the way over to Hardin’s Tower that was half broken up top and leaning like it wanted to be sick all over the ground. Stones had spilled out from its broken battlement.

Overhead, Jon could hear the screams of ravens as they entered the maester’s keep. It was boiling inside after the cold frost of a northern morning. Across the room, a withered old man sat beside the fire, a thick fur draped over his lap.

“Maester Aemon? They’re here.”

The old man startled at Uncle Benjen’s voice. At first Jon didn’t understand why. They were right in front of him, as obvious at the Wall, but when they got closer, he saw the old man’s eyes. Each was cloudy like snow, unmoving, unseeing. Maester Aemon reached a hand forward, searching for one of them. Uncle Benjen grasped it, smiling.

“Jon, this is Castle Black’s maester, and your uncle. Aemon, our nephew, Prince Jon.”

“Are you really a million forevers old?”

Maester Aemon’s laughter was like chimes dancing in the wind. Jon loved the sound at once.

“I expect I’m quite a few past a million at this stage of life,” Aemon said, then he reached a wrinkled hand forward. “Let me see you.” 

He didn’t quite understand how that worked until the old man’s hands were examining his face. Each touch was light, almost reverent. From his curls to his nose to his ears, Maester Aemon used his hands to see him. Jon had never felt quite so exposed.

“Mama says you’re a Targaryen, too,” Jon said once the examination was finished. “Why are you the maester here instead of for Father in King’s Landing?”

His uncle laughed once, gentle and soft. “Castle Black had a need for a maester, and so my duty brought me here.”

“Oh.” Jon nodded. “I haven’t been to King’s Landing either.”

Aemon smiled, clearly delighted by him already. “I grew up in King’s Landing. For a time, at least. A few years older than you are now, I was sent to the Citadel to forge my chain.”

His hand grasped the chain about his neck, ringed with a dozen different metals. Jon was still learning to match each with the branch of knowledge it linked to.

“Each one is for a different sort of knowledge,” Jon told him. He reached a hand forward and poked the ring of black iron. “That one’s because you learned ravenry.”

That earned him another delighted smile. His uncle’s hand shifted over the metals, stopping at a reddish orange one that shined brightly in the firelight. “And what is this one here?”

“Copper is history,” Jon answered, trying his best to keep the uncertainty from his voice. He’d learned most of them and knew the metals by sight at least, but he still got their meanings mixed up some days. “Uncle Ned says there’s lots of history in the North and at the Wall.”

“More than any man living could ever know,” Uncle Aemon agreed. “More than all the libraries in the realm could yield.”

They stayed with the old maester long enough to warm themselves and for introductions to be made, then Uncle Ned and Robb came for them. Jon and Robb were taken on a long tour of the castle’s various towers, the wormways under the ground, in sight of the tunnel that went under and out the northern side, and then to the cage. Cold winds whipped them as they ascended, the cage swaying a little as the winch heaved them upwards.

Bitter cold greeted them when they reached the top. Uncle Benjen led the way out, Uncle Ned next. Ser Arthur took no chances and hoisted Jon up and onto the carved out, gravel-strewn ice path. He did the same with Robb. 

“Stay close,” Ser Arthur told them. “It’s a long way down. One no man nor boy could survive.”

Uncle Benjen talked as he walked them along the Wall’s hollowed out path. It was far wider than Jon had expected. If they’d wanted to do so, he and Robb could have brought their ponies right to the top and walked them side by side. Every now and then, a cut out in the ice gazed upon the wilderness beyond. They stopped at one, beside a black brother huddled at a flickering brazier.

“This is where Westeros ends,” Uncle Ned said, gazing northward with them. “Beyond here, wildlings raid and roam.”

Jon stared down at it all in a shivery sort of wonder. From this height, the trees were like little bushes. They’d been cut back from the Wall, it seemed. He could just see the little dots that he thought were stumps along the tree line. Beyond that, it was thick forest, not a soul or building in sight.

“Does it go on forever?”

“No,” Uncle Benjen told him. “You go far enough and you’ll find amountains, lakes, ravines. The seas to the east and west. They say it ends with a frozen sea to the north, too, but we’ve never ranged so far. Wildlings dominate those places.”

“They don’t come this far south,” Ned said, seeing the looks on their faces. “They’re hard men, but they know not to try the Wall still.”

“For now.” Uncle Benjen gave Ned a look, but they said no more.

For a while longer, Jon and Robb were allowed to stare down at the world, at the sparkling sheer face of ice, to the clouds that seemed just out of reach of their hands. When they returned to the ground, Jon didn’t want to go. 

“We’re flying up there,” he tried to explain. “So high up like dragons, Uncle Ned!”

“The dragons are all gone, lad. All that’s left is stone eggs like yours.”

_ They won’t be stone forever, Dany promised. _

After dinner, Uncle Benjen decided to give them one final treat before sunset. With an escort of Night’s Watch men and Northmen, they rode their horses and ponies under the Wall and out the other side. Steel seemed to delight in the fresh snow, his pony trotting happily along as Robb was reined in by his father. 

“Don’t wander,” Ser Arthur said from Jon’s side. “Out here in the open, with the forest so dense, anyone might be watching.”

But Jon wasn’t listening anymore. They were halfway between the Wall and the forest and Jon had seen one of the few landmarks his dreams had to offer. Before anyone could stop him, Jon had dismounted and was racing through the snow, his little sword rattling at his hip.

“Prince Jon!”

Ser Arthur’s stallion roared after him, and a moment later he’d been lifted off his feet and into the sworn sword’s arms.

“What did I just tell you?”

“But it’s real!” Jon told him, fighting to get free. “It’s the big rock, it’s just there!”

He pointed toward the wedge of rock not far from the forest’s edge, jutting skyward like a great arrowhead.

His mother had arrived to scold him, leading his pony at her side.

“Jon, how many  _ times— _ ”

“Mama, it’s the rock from my dreams!” And a thrill ran through him, his eyes scanning the forest’s edge, the sky behind them. “This is the place.”

Uncle Ned and Robb had reached him, and his uncle’s stern face looked even harder.

“Only a dream, Jon,” his uncle told him, not unkindly. “You see it now, yes?”

Jon nodded, still gazing across the distance at the stone. It didn’t seem quite so worn down as most of his dreams were of it. The point was sharper than his imaginings.

“It’s not ready yet,” he tried to explain, but nobody seemed to understand.

“It’s just a stone, Jon,” Uncle Ned told him, and he lifted Jon onto his saddle and sat him down in front of him. “That’s all that’s here. No storms, no dead men, just a forest.”

It took a moment for Jon to realize what his uncle meant. 

_ He doesn’t believe me either _ .

But Jon was certain Uncle Ned did, or at least, he’d taken Jon’s words with a great deal of consideration and care on the few occasions his uncle had asked.

“It’s not  _ ready _ yet,” Jon repeated, trying to twist out of his uncle’s saddle, but a horse was much too tall for him to get down from without help. “It’s not time.”

“Perhaps it never will be,” Uncle Ned told him. “Whatever the case, those nightmares you were having… they needn’t bother you right now. Don’t fear them anymore, Jon.”

Guilt twisted inside him for the secrets he was keeping, the silent jolts awakening him at night and the many questions they brought. Every day he grew more used to what he saw—more brave for every glimpse of fear. That’s what Uncle Ned had said to do.

* * *

Jon slept fitfully that night. They’d been given chambers in the King’s Tower, he and Robb set up together while his mother and uncle were given their own. Extra guards had been left outside her door, though Jon couldn’t quite understand why. She’d never needed them before. When he woke for the third time, panting and dizzy from his nightmares, Jon decided to take a walk instead. He grabbed his big fur cloak and his boots and went outside.

Moonlight bathed the yard and towers, sparkling off the Wall as if it was turning into a second moon. He considered the cage and the tunnel for a moment, then made his way to Uncle Aemon’s keep. Even from outside, he could see the firelight glowing in the small window.

His old uncle was still seated before the fire, this time with a book on his lap. Jon shut the door loudly so he could hear him.

“Prince Jon, it’s very late to not be abed.”

He shrugged, then realizing his uncle couldn’t see that, said, “I couldn’t sleep. How did you know it was me?”

“There are very few little feet at Castle Black,” Uncle Aemon said. “And nobody else would visit me so late as you have.”

“Sorry.”

He waved Jon closer, smiling to confirm he wasn’t in trouble.

Jon went to him eagerly. His Targaryen uncle fascinated him in ways his Stark uncles did not. He was as old as Old Nan from Winterfell, his hair thin and white, his skin spotted and sagging. Like Jon, he didn’t look much like the other Targaryens.

“A trait we share, not being able to sleep,” his uncle said, welcoming him onto his lap. “Since my sight was lost a few years ago, I’ve found sleep at night to be difficult.”

“I sleep better with Dany,” Jon said without thinking. Then he flinched, waiting for a rebuke that didn’t come.

“Princess Daenerys, your father’s little sister.”

Jon nodded. “She’s my best friend.”

“I should think so, you two have grown up together for many years on Dragonstone.”

“Yes,” Jon said. “She has the dreams, too, so we’ve got to be together.”

His uncle stilled, his brow furrowing. “What dreams are these?”

“Father doesn’t like us having them.” Jon moved off his lap to the bear skin rug before the fire, picking at the thick fur. “He doesn’t believe us.”

“And why do you think that is?”

“Cause Father doesn’t want to hear what we see,” Jon said after a moment’s thought. “I think he’s scared of being wrong, so he wants us to be wrong instead.”

“And are you scared of these dreams?”

When Jon didn’t answer, his uncle reached a hand for him, and Jon went to him once more.

“Our blood has been known to have the gift of dragon dreams, Jon,” Uncle Aemon told him. “Seeing truths and horrors while we sleep. Your father knows this, but I daresay he has forced himself to forget the magic that remains to our world.”

“You believe me?”

Uncle Aemon nodded. “I do. It was dreams that once saved our bloodline, that led to our very existence, Jon. My brother Daeron was known to have them, too.”

“He saw the dragons?” Jon asked in a rush. “And the Wall and the… the ice people?”

A sharp breath greeted his questions. Jon clung to him, his belly aching in hope. To have someone believe him, who knew someone else that wasn’t him or Dany with such dreams, was almost too much. Mother believed him, but she didn’t understand. None of the Starks did.

“The seed of Rhaella and Aerys’s line,” Aemon whispered. “A generation removed, and yet…”

Once more, his uncle used his hands to glimpse Jon’s face. To see him in a way Jon couldn’t understand, but that made him feel half a ghost.

“Perhaps Prince Jaehaerys instead of Prince Rhaegar.”

Jon scowled at that name. He’d not heard it used in months now, not since Father had explained its importance to him on Dragonstone.

“I’m Jon,” he muttered, sullen. “Jaehaerys is just a shield.”

Uncle Aemon paused to consider him. “And why is a name as a shield something to be displeased with?”

Jon didn’t answer at once. He glanced at his uncle, then toward the fire. For the first time, he thought he’d found the right words.

“Father says it’s a shield, and Mama never uses it since she named me Jon first. Why couldn’t they pick a name together so they didn’t have to fight over which one I like best now?”

Aemon lifted Jon onto his lap with a surprising amount of strength for someone who looked so frail.

“I cannot change that,” Aemon said, “but both names are good, I should think. Legacy trails behind each. Many Starks carried the name Jon, and many Targaryens have been named Jaehaerys. You were named to reflect both halves of yourself. Take pride in that, in both names, whatever your father and mother do. Together, they are a powerful thing.”

He took his time to think that over, seated on Aemon’s lap before the fire. Jaehaerys had always been so fleeting; temporary. Once every few moons, Father strolled across the sea and he was Jaeherys in brief bursts. The rest of his days, he was Jon. It did not feel like a shield to him, a name meant to protect him from harm. He did not want to hide behind one name to protect the other. Perhaps, he’d not understood right when Father had explained it.

“I don’t know how to be Jaehaerys. How to be a shield for Jon when I’m already Jon.”

And his uncle laughed, not unkindly but it was musical too and soft.

“You already  _ are _ Jaehaerys, little Prince. All you must be is yourself, whichever name you wear in the moment. Both have power and sway. All you must do is learn when to yield them.”

Father hadn’t mentioned that. But there was a lot Rhaegar seemed to leave unsaid from what Jon had seen. Trying to understand what wasn’t said by his father wasn’t easy.

“Is Jon a shield for Jaehaerys, too?”

“I suppose, in some ways, yes, it might be. That name holds power here in the North,” Uncle Aemon said. “Jaehaerys will give you much more strength in the south. But whatever name is needed, you will always be you. Especially to those most important and closest to you.”

“Like Dany?”

“Yes, like Daenerys. You said she shares your dreams?”

Jon nodded. “It was always the same until I left Dragonstone. She was on her dragon and I was with my sword, and then—”

His uncle waited, rocking him slightly as Jon struggled to speak. He hated that part of their dreams. The very worst sight some nights, especially when it was Dany who fell instead of him. 

“One of us gets hurt,” Jon said. “Sometimes it’s just me, but sometimes it’s Dany.”

“And since you’ve come north, what has changed?”

Jon hesitated. He’d told nobody of all he was seeing now. Some nights, it was similar to his dreams with Dany. North of the Wall, his sword in hand, snow and ice swirling all around him, and Dany, sometimes, in the air above. But more and more, those senses were slashed open and he was tossed elsewhere. The Winterfell crypts, somewhere dark and enclosed that tasted of blood, and always, the dead were near.

“I don’t wanna,” he insisted, when his uncle asked again. “I can’t—I don’t wanna.”

And Uncle Aemon let that go. He did not push like others might, but let Jon have that battle to keep until he was ready to speak on it.

“These ice people you see, Jon, will you tell me of them instead?”

It was a struggle to find the words, though easier than it had been even half a year past. He’d have to thank Rhaenys next time he saw her. All those new words were coming in handy now.

“Their eyes burn blue,” he said. “They’re ice but like the Wall is, not like the icicles that melt at Winterfell. Changing colors like a prism, and the… they make the dead theirs forever, Uncle Aemon. With the same eyes, but their hands are black like someone’s burned them. I’ve got a big sword when I face them ‘cause I’m not small anymore. Dany’s there, on her dragon, and she… she flies all over and gives them fire and-and...”

He shuddered in excited relief, unable to go on.

And it was acceptance he found on his uncle’s wrinkled face. No hint of misunderstanding or dislike at Jon’s words, instead his uncle smoothed his hair flat and then motioned to the dark oak bookshelf across the room.

“Fetch  _ The Dance _ for me, Jon.”

Confused, Jon did as asked. It was an enormous book almost too high for him to reach, but he slid it out, bracing for the weight that did not come. Just from the title, Jon understood what it was about; Targaryen history, when dragons had battled dragons. It was light as could be. A pillow would be near the same heft.

“Open it,” Uncle Aemon encouraged. “I cannot read them anymore, but I saved them nevertheless.” Jon dropped down to the bear rug once more, and pried the cover open. “Letters from your father, Jon. For all the many years he wrote to me in his youth, thinking himself meant to face what your dreams have shown you.”

It was just as his uncle said. Inside the pages had been cut, from the first all the way down to the last, leaving a large rectangular hole hidden inside. From the hollow, his father’s hand stared back at him from dozens of frayed and aging slips of parchment. Jon picked the first up in amazement.

“I grow less convinced by the day that I am the promised prince,” Jon read, “but that instead the three dragon heads are meant to follow after me. That my children will lead the realm when war comes, as Aegon and his sisterwives once did.”

His uncle nodded silently as Jon read through the page.

“As a young man, Rhaegar thought he was the prince that was promised,” Aemon told him. “That one day, he would lead us when the Others returned. Eventually, he decided that was untrue, and we thought it might be his first son, your brother, Aegon. That three children of the king would be those necessary to save us when that day arrived.”

“But that doesn’t include Dany,” Jon said, glowering. “It’s gotta be Dany, Uncle Aemon. She’s the most important thing.”

“Perhaps, she’s of the same line.” His uncle frowned. “We only ever looked for a prince. Singular, of course, and with your dreams, perhaps it was the second son and not the first. And why not? My younger brother Aegon was never meant to be king, and yet he was. Unlikeliness does not disqualify one. You may be the one promised, Jon. The prince to lead the way.”

Jon frowned at him, unconvinced. “My only promises are to Dany,” he told his uncle sternly. “Whenever she goes, I’ll follow once I’m grown.”

That earned him a faint smile. “You intend to spend your life by her side?”

“Yes,” Jon said defiantly. “Whether Father thinks so or not. We’re together. It’s us always, Uncle Aemon.”

Before Aemon could answer, someone rapped urgently at the door. A moment later, Uncle Ned and Mother were inside, frantic.

“Maester, have you seen—gods be good, Jon.”

His uncle let out a big breath as Lyanna rushed to Jon. He was in her arms at once, felt the way she trembled in fear from his absence.

“Uncle Aemon was telling me about dragon dreams, Mama, that’s all.”

She let out a little hiccup of relief and fear and clutched him to her chest.

“You must stop wandering off as such,” she scolded him. “Robb woke with you gone and I thought that he might have—gods.”

Jon wriggled to get back down to the letters. He was fascinated by them, to the idea that once his father might have believed everything he and Dany dreamt. Why didn’t he now? Was it the crown of a king that had changed him?

“He’s been here a while,” Aemon told Lyanna and Ned. “Ser Jaime is atop the Wall tonight. Lord Commander Mormont made certain with Ser Arthur’s reservations.”

Jon scooped up all of the letters, scanning them for all the words he knew. Unfortunately, there were quite a few he didn’t.

“Take them with you,” his uncle said. “As I cannot read them anymore, you certainly can. And perhaps, His Grace will write again then.”

“He stopped?” That did surprise Jon. For however much he struggled with his father, Rhaegar was usually consistent, if nothing else. “But he wrote for  _ years _ ,” Jon said, lifting the thick stack toward Uncle Aemon. “At least ten forevers.”

He got only a sad smile in return.

“I’m afraid things changed drastically in the realm and for your father around the time you were born,” Uncle Aemon said. “One letter arrived after he was crowned to tell me he could not believe it anymore. That was the last I heard from him.”

Jon set the letters back into the book and went over to his uncle. “I’ll  _ make _ him write you again, Uncle,” he told him. “And I’ll get Dany and Rhae and Egg to write to you, too. You’ll have so many letters you’ll need a whole new tower just for all the ravens we send.”

Blind though he was, Uncle Aemon leaned forward and kissed Jon on his forehead. He laughed as he leaned away.

“I would surely enjoy every word you four write me, even if I cannot read them with my own eyes.” Uncle Aemon nudged him away, back toward the hollowed out book and Rhaegar’s letters. “Take them south with you. Perhaps all the king needs is a reminder to understand what your dreams with Daenerys mean.”

Uncle Ned took up the old book, and Lyanna led him out. When they returned to the King’s Tower, he was taken to his mother’s chambers instead of back to his shared room with Robb.

“If I have to hog tie you, little dragon, I will. You seem to fly away every chance you get.”

She held him against her, let him take his dragon egg into his own arms, and when Jon fell asleep this time, he had no dreams at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we are learning it there for now. Who's next...???
> 
> T-minus 12 hours until I have 2 teeth left. I will see you cats in a few weeks with the next one!
> 
> Tootles for now!


	11. RHAELLA II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some guests arrive, Rhaella adjusts to King's Landing and wonders about the futures of her grandchildren.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has beeeeen an aaaaaage. Sorry for no update last week, but wisdom teeth removal decided to have some complications that were mostly nerve pain related (among other stupid mouth type nonsense) and made recovery longer and writing/thinking/being awake awful. But I am 3 less teeth now (and 6 less pounds since I couldn't eat anything substantial for 8 days @.@) and (mostly) all healed. Aka I can yawn in the morning and not end up with a 3-4 day long headache/jaw ache/face ache, and we call this progress.
> 
> This week's is Rhaella. Yaaaas, the good old queen returns!
> 
> Enjoy!

Highgarden’s procession arrived in a glorious flourish of horseflesh and silk. Columns of their guards filtered into the Red Keep’s courtyard, the golden rose on a field of green flapping in the summer breeze. Lord Tyrell’s carriage trudged through the castle gate, his sons riding at either side. More carriages followed, carrying more Tyrells and the usual supply of food. As part of his agreement with the King, Lord Tyrell supplied an extra portion of his crops to feed the city quarterly. In exchange, he held a position on the King’s Small Council. In some ways, Rhaella had objected to the idea, but Mace Tyrell had proven adequate. And all that came with his power and name made up for his lackluster wits.

Still, she hoped his sons would prove better.

Rhaella didn’t know the younger two boys by sight, but she recognized little Lord Willas. He’d grown considerably since she’d last seen him, his brown hair longer but still fine, his face thinning as manhood approached. At fourteen years, his age was not so far out of reach for Rhaenys. Compared to some of her other potential suitors, Rhaella favored Willas. As a younger boy, he’d been much like Aegon. He’d come to the city a few times during Aerys’s reign, and not gotten along with Viserys at all. Calm, studious, a bit bland for Rhaenys’s wild ways but they could balance one another, if nothing else. Rhaegar seemed to think the same, despite Elia’s misgivings.

_ Four years is not too large a distance once they’re older. And Elia will learn to let go of her distrust of Tyrells if Willas proves a good man. _

All of those potential plans for a union, however, would entirely depend on the man Willas Tyrell grew to be. Rhaenys would be Rhaenys. However wild or mischievous or difficult, she would likely stay that way. It was not her personality that worried them, so much as that of her suitor; of her safety in the marriage that decorum required of her. An eye would be kept on Willas while he was in King’s Landing, but it was the younger Tyrell children that interested Rhaella in the immediate.

Young Garlan and Loras rode opposite their eldest brother. Garlan was too old, near Willas’s age, but little Loras was perfect for Aegon. Despite having two older brothers, Rhaella hoped that Loras would not be as rough as Rhaenys. More like Jon in temperament as well as age. Lord Mace was already boasting of the boy’s gift with a sword and lance. He was the perfect friend for when Jon could not be here.

“Where have our daughters gotten off to now?” Elia’s lips barely moved as Rhaegar went to greet their guests. 

“They’ve taken Ser Barristan with them at least,” Rhaella whispered back. “And Ser Jonothor.”

Elia sighed, then hitched up her smile, a hand on Aegon’s thin shoulder. “Go greet our guests with your father, dear.”

He went without a fuss, upright and tall. Daenerys and Rhaenys, however, were conspicuously absent and had been since breakfast. Little Myrcella Baratheon had been quite sad about it.

_ Wandering who knows where this time, they’re as bad as Jon and Daenerys ever were on Dragonstone. _

Only King’s Landing, even the Red Keep alone, was a much larger expanse to explore. Ser Barristan had been struggling to keep up since they’d arrived in the capitol five months ago. Rhaenys had been assigned her own guard now that she and Aegon were spending less and less time together. While Aegon learned to rule at Rhaegar’s side, Rhaenys expected was at court. Charming and chattering, then stitching the afternoons away with the septa. Her and Daenerys were nearly inseparable as Rhaenys mingled amongst all the other young ladies as well, Elia prodding her endlessly. But when she could, Rhaenys broke fast and hard.

Rhaenys could handle the courtesies of a lady when forced, but her heart was already so far from that path. She needed a husband who might understand that. A man who would not shy from her wilder sides, nor her desire to wield a blade.

At the king’s simple gesture, Rhaella and Elia went forward to greet their guests, too. They curtseyed in unison as Lord Mace heaved his bulk from the first carriage.

“Welcome back to King’s Landing, Lord Tyrell,” Rhaella said. “I hope the journey was kind.”

“Nothing so fine as a summer trip to or from Highgarden,” he said, giving them a quick glance before turning back to the king. “I trust the Small Council won’t meet until after we’re settled.”

“Of course not,” Rhaegar told his Master of Coin. “Tomorrow evening perhaps, though we have nothing of pressing importance for now.”

Behind Lord Tyrell, his wife, daughter, and the Queen of Thorns exited the second carriage. Rhaella knew the latter best of the three. Lady Olenna had been a frequent visitor to the city when Aerys had reigned, and even under King Jaehaerys. She was aging and turning fragile of body, but her sharp eyes told Rhaella her wit was still well intact.

“My lady wife, Alerie, and our daughter, Margaery, Your Grace.”

“Charmed, my ladies.” Rhaegar gave them each a quick hand kiss in greeting, and then smiled at Olenna. “Lady Olenna, its an honor to have you in King’s Landing once more.”

“Yes, yes, a great honor,” Lady Olenna said, every word dripping with her usual biting contempt. Her sharp eyes scanned the royal family. “You seem to be missing a wife and several children.”

Rhaella did not flinch at the scorn in her tone. She’d expected to meet resistance upon returning to King’s Landing; to see for herself just how deep the undercurrents of hostility went toward the Starks and her youngest grandson. So far, it was proving more deep than she’d hoped. Open hostility wasn’t present yet, but plenty of hints were there. Part of it, she was certain was simple curiosity about Jon—but with that came the worry they might attempt to use Jon to their own ends.

Elia was wise enough to answer first. “Queen Lyanna and Prince Jaehaerys are visiting Winterfell, my lady. We expect them to join us in a few moons.”

“And our princesses are with the Septa,” Rhaegar added, all easy smiles and charm with the simple lie. “Please, you’ve had a long journey, I’ll escort you to your chambers.”

The look in Olenna’s eyes told Rhaella that particular conversation would be continued, such as it always had been before. In all her years, Rhaella knew Lady Olenna to be a bit of a gossip, but a sharp wit and a good judge of character and motive in others. Her tongue, however, was more barbed than a wire.

Rhaella and Elia watched the Tyrell escort disappear into the castle with Rhaegar, little Aegon trailing at his father’s hip.

“This is a bad idea,” Elia said once they were alone again. “So many Tyrells—”

“Are easier to watch for thorns when growing in plain sight,” Rhaella reminded her. “Lord Tyrell has proven to be a good Master of Coin these past seven years. I say it is only fair that we offer the same opportunities to his children, yes?”

Elia scowled, but did not remark on her disdain. 

“Unless you’d rather invite the Lannisters into the city instead?”

Elia glared at her. “I am not yet so foolish.”

“This feud, or however you wish to name it, need not continue, Elia. Aegon’s reign, whenever it should arrive, will be best served—”

“With unity,” Elia said. She gritted her teeth before relaxing her jaw into a weak smile. “Internal and external, I know. Loras is the right age, I suppose.”

“He is,” Rhaella agreed. She linked her arm through Elia’s as they returned to their wing of Maegor’s holdfast. “Bonding them as friends in youth may prove just as important as his brotherhood with Jon.”

They’d discussed it more times than Rhaella could count since Rhaegar’s search for a viable companion for Aegon had begun. The answer, even then, had been obvious. Only Elia’s resistance to more Tyrells had slowed the process. But Aegon’s once more stalled sword training had brought her around. Lord Tyrell was already in the city for most of the year. Usually, he was alone, but it was not uncommon for his eldest son to join him. Now, all three boys would be with them, Loras even when his father was not with them.

_ A chance for Aegon to make a true friend not of his own blood. _

She hoped it proved more fruitful than Lady Baratheon and her young daughter. Lady Cersei was still with them, meant to depart at the end of the week. It was a day that could not come soon enough. She was surly and belligerent, coated in the arrogance of her father, Lord Tywin. Little Myrcella was sweeter than pie for her part. While Aegon had been shy around her at the prospect of a betrothal, Daenerys had adored her. They’d been fast friends, ones that even Cersei couldn’t frown upon. It was a smart match, if Lord Stannis and Rhaegar reached a final agreement.

Every bit of life in the Red Keep seemed to have spun up stars in Dany’s eyes. She was thriving. Her lessons were improving, her hand smaller and more legible. Dany charmed and won smiles everywhere she went, from the ladies of the court, to their little children, even with the stony-faced guards that lined all the corridors and gardens.

King’s Landing suited her youngest quite well. Having Rhaenys at her side had soothed the few nightmares that remained. The girls had grown close, despite the age difference and their varying interests. 

_ I only hope the same has been true for Jon all these months.  _

From his letters, it sounded as though Jon and Robb had become fast friends. And while there was no mention of nightmares, Rhaella still wondered if they were a silent presence he carried with him. Ink and parchment could not substitute for conversation. Perhaps their nightmares still lingered with Jon while Daenerys’s had fallen quiet. She could not say what the case was. Not until they were all together once more in King’s Landing.

Or perhaps they would be free of them now, these visions of horror and a bleak future that might not come to pass. King’s Landing would be a refuge for them instead of haunted by ghosts and memories as it was for her. If their sleep could be easy, Rhaella would be grateful for it, even if she lost her own.

Sleep in the halls of her marriage had proven stilted. In the air and stone and light where Aerys had gone from unwilling husband to monster. Every night was a test; some even a curse.

They found their daughters charming the bakers for sweets a dozen floors below in the kitchens. Both Ser Barristan and Ser Jonothor were with them, all smiles and gleaming white enamel armor as Dany attempted to feed them lemon cakes and sweet breads.

“You have to open  _ wider _ ,” Daenerys insisted. She climbed onto Ser Barristan’s lap for better access to his mouth and tugged his chin downward. “Here, this one’s Egg’s most favorite.”

The old knight obliged her, almost choking as the whole tart was forced into his mouth. He caught it with a gentle hand, and took a great big bite instead.

“Very nice,” Ser Barristan said as he chewed. “Thank you, Princess, but I’m afraid any more of these and our supper will be ruined.”

“Just five more,” Rhaenys called from the other side of the room. She appeared a moment later, caked in flour and chocolate, using her skirts to carry a great pile of tarts and pies. “We’ve got  _ my _ favorite next and then—uh oh.”

Her dark eyes had spotted Elia and Rhaella.

“I daresay you  _ forgot _ this morning’s schedule,” Elia said to her daughter. She eyed the pile of desserts and nodded at a table nearby. “Put them down.”

Rhaenys didn’t fight her on it, though she snarled and stomped her feet all the same. It reminded Rhaella so much of Jon sometimes, the obvious temper, the forceful way she showed her displeasure. The blood and fire of a dragon, not the flames of Dorne, whatever Elia believed of it. Neither looked Valyrian, but they had the temperament all the same. Both kingsguard stood in a hurry, assuming their expected stoic positions.

“Apologies, my Queen,” Ser Barristan said. “The princesses were adamant.”

And without Rhaegar’s direct word, there was no reason for them to not obey their charges. Ser Jonothor looked properly ashamed, too, as he wiped his mouth clean.

“It’s not for you to make their choices,” Rhaella told him. “Rhaenys and Daenerys understand their responsibilities well enough to know they foresaked them.”

“It’s just Lord Tyrell,” Rhaenys muttered. “He’s nothing special we haven’t seen before. And Balerion—”

“Is a cat,” Elia said sternly. “Where or what he is up to does not bar you from attending the arrival of our new guests. Lady Margaery is certainly wondering why the two princesses she’s been told wish to meet her were not present.”

Dany flushed in guilt and ducked her head. “Sorry, Mama.”

Rhaenys glowered at the flour-dusted floor and said nothing.

“You’ll get cleaned up for our midday meal and apologize to her.” Elia caught her daughter by the upper arm. “Rhaenys.”

“Fine.”

They marched their girls upstairs and ended up having to dunk them in their baths early just to make them presentable for their guests. Dany happily put on her finest dress, a wispy lilac silk that had replaced the now too small one Rhaegar had brought to Dragonstone. She was growing every day. Perhaps two or three inches since they’d departed. 

_ She may be taller than Jon now. _

The thought made Rhaella smile. Jon would loathe that, just as Aegon grew annoyed at Rhaenys’s persistent badgering about how much taller she was than him. That height difference at least was expected in these early years. Rhaella wouldn’t be surprised to find her granddaughter taller than herself before long, but Aegon would not be far behind either. Like Rhaegar, he was thin and lanky already. All four children would tower over her before the end.

“Can’t I wear my riding trousers or something?” Rhaenys sat shivering in her towel, glaring at the frilly dress that had been set out for her. “I want to spar after lunch, not sit around stitching again.”

“We’ll see.”

Elia handed her the dress and Rhaenys glared at her with all the strength a ten-year-old could muster.

“Just say no if I’m not allowed,” Rhaenys snapped. “You don’t have to lie.”

Rhaella helped Dany with her tiara and led her quietly from the room. Already the moodiness was starting, and with Rhaenys, she was certain it would be far worse than her own children had been. Neither Rhaegar nor Viserys had been ill-fitted for their expected roles. And Dany seemed to be happy to follow that same line of propriety. But Rhaenys didn’t fit. Not in the way that was expected here in King’s Landing.

“Why can’t Rhaenys spar later?” Dany gazed up at her in confusion, skipping along at her side. “She always got to when we were on Dragonstone.”

“King’s Landing is not Dragonstone, though, is it?”

“No,” Dany agreed, frowning, “but sparring’s the same even in different places.”

Her daughter had her there. Turning six a few moons ago had brought a leap in understanding that Rhaella was still learning to navigate. And having a best friend who was quite a bit older only strengthened that growing knowledge base.

“It is, but Rhaenys is getting older,” Rhaella said. “She must learn a lady’s role and tasks just as well as a sword or spear. More so, in truth.”

“Like stitching?”

“Yes, or running a castle’s household smoothly.”

“Rhaenys hates that stuff. Why can’t she be a lady with a sword in the same way Aegon will be a lord with a sword?”

And Rhaella didn’t have an answer for that. Every day, Daenerys offered at least one question she had no real answer for. Like why Jon hadn’t been allowed to come to King’s Landing first. Like why her nightmares had finally, blessedly, stopped within a few weeks of leaving Dragonstone. It ought to have been a deep relief, but every night without them put Rhaella on edge.

Her own had filled the sudden nightly silence, but for Daenerys to be entirely free of them, to sleep soundly each night…

_ It is a gift _ , she tried to convince herself. _ Perhaps Rhaegar was right that they would simply outgrow them. _

But she could not help but fear it was something much worse that had resulted in her daughter’s peaceful sleep. That Dany and Jon, together, were the root of their terrors.

Could they both be wrong—confused as young children can be when they see things they do not understand? Might their dreams have been warning them against one another instead of toward each other?

She had no answers. With those nightmares falling silent, Rhaella had let that conversation go. Daenerys did not speak of them anymore, not even in her letters to Jon that Rhaella read through and helped her rewrite with better spelling and grammar. Each night free of them was a gift, yes, and she hoped it stayed that way once Jon and Lyanna returned to them. But she had her doubts nevertheless, no matter how hard she tried to believe.

* * *

To nobody’s surprise, Daenerys made quick friends with Margaery just as she had with Myrcella. The three were giggly smiles at their end of the king’s table, Rhaenys a reluctant and moody addition. Aegon, however, sat at his father’s side, attentive as ever. Rhaella kept to her space between the girls and the men, Elia across from her as Lord Arryn and Lord Tyrell spoke with Rhaegar. Lady Cersei had deemed herself unfit to join them.

“—a feast in their honor would be prudent,” Lord Arryn was saying. “Brief though their visit will be, it’s important we maintain a good relationship with Lord Redwyne, but a tourney may be too much time, too much expense.”

“Morale always improves,” Lord Tyrell argued, his cheeks and chin covered in his dinner. “The city thrives—”

“And rapes and robs and burns,” Lord Arryn reminded him. “Besides, we’ll likely hold a tourney for Prince Aegon’s nameday soon. Another shortly thereafter would be bad form.” The King’s Hand turned to their young prince. “Would you enjoy that, my Prince?”

Aegon looked nervous at the prospect. He was used to listening, not being noticed by the King’s Hand or any of the Small Council for his opinion. It was one of the things Rhaella had been trying to work with him on, to encourage him to speak up more.

Rhaegar turned to him. “Aegon?”

Her little grandson swallowed, looking at all the eyes on him suddenly. “C-could we have a joint one instead? For my nameday and Jo—Jaehaerys’s? We’re only a few weeks apart, Father, and he would love a tourney, I think. He’s probably never seen one before.”

Lord Tyrell continued to stuff his face, but Lord Arryn seemed to be giving it serious thought.

“It would send a good message,” he advised. “A smart introduction for Prince Jaehaerys’s first time in the capital. Do we know when to expect them?”

“Soon,” Rhaegar said, frowning as he eyed Aegon carefully. “Lord Stark sent word when they departed the Wall a fortnight ago. If the winds are kind, they should reach the bay in a few weeks time.”

“Just in time for Prince Jaehaerys’s nameday then,” Lord Arryn said, nodding and considering. “We could make it work, run the numbers and move quickly to announce it. If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I’ll begin preparations this evening,” he said, standing and bowing. “My queens, my ladies, my lord, thank you for supper.”

They finished with dessert, though Rhaella was careful not to let Dany overindulge after the breakfast she’d snuck away for. The Tyrells were next to depart, just Lord Mace and his daughter. His mother, sons, and wife had chosen rest instead, but Margaery seemed delighted to have attended. She curtseyed beautifully to all of them, smiling at Dany.

“It’s so nice to have another lady around my own age,” she told Dany. “Three brothers is a lot.”

“They’re not so bad when you’re the oldest,” Rhaenys said. “Unless you call one of them a baby. They don’t like that too much.”

The children were quick to depart for their chambers once the meal ended, but Rhaella lingered behind with Elia and Rhaegar.

“It was a kind suggestion,” Elia was saying. “To share it with Jon instead of having it fully in his honor.”

“Yes, I expect it’s the best course,” Rhaegar agreed. “Aegon is learning well, though he’s still… timid when acknowledged. A prince—a king—must step into the forefront without flinching.”

“Practice is all he needs,” Rhaella said. “He can grow into his voice if given adequate chances to use it. As he still spends most of his day trailing after your heels, listening and mostly ignored by the grown men in the room, he has little chance to learn that.”

Her son grimaced, but didn’t disagree. “If he had half of Jon’s willfulness, he’d be standing on the Small Council’s table, telling all of them off.”

_ No doubt Rhaenys would do the same. _

It was a thought that made her oddly sad.

“He’ll have Jon back soon enough to remind him,” Elia said. “Another moon, you said?”

“Less, I hope. Lord Stark escorted them to Eastwatch so they could take a ship instead. I believe they were stopping in White Harbor before coming here.”

_ Daenerys will be thrilled _ .

But a guilt-riddled dread pooled inside of Rhaella as she headed for the royal suites. Would Jon’s arrival bring all of those nightmares back to Dany? Was she thinking the very worst of her youngest grandson for a fault that was not his own?

She’d grown endlessly fond of how bright and happy her daughter could be without them. And when each footfall echoed another moment of grief from the stone walls around her, those brief spells of joy for Dany soothed her own troubles. These stones had heard every cruel word, every cry of pain, every tearful hope as she’d birthed babes already dead.

And like the kingsguard outside the door, they’d been unmoved.

It was this place bringing her distress, even all these years past.

Each day grew easier. Every breath without him, here where they’d lived, made her lungs burn less. But it never seemed to fade, to leave her entirely as it eventually had on Dragonstone. In King’s Landing, there was no single place that Aerys hadn’t left his mark. But her little girl’s smile soothed those aches. If it meant having Daenerys, every horror was worth it for her.

Dany was already in bed when Rhaella entered her chambers, clumsily braiding her hair as she sat up with the two dragon eggs she’d kept.

“Like this, dear.” Rhaella sat on the bed beside her, and showed her how to braid once more, guiding her fumbling fingers at the back of her head. She’d mastered it on another’s head, but was still struggling to braid her own hair. “Keep trying.”

And Dany did. Without complaint or frown or frustration, she fumbled her way through the twists and overlaps. Eventually, she got it right.

“You’re going to have your very favorite braiding partner back soon.”

“Jon’s coming back?” Dany beamed and leapt up, bouncing on the bed in her excitement, her braid unraveling. “When? Is he here tomorrow? In the morning? He never answered my last raven.”

“I imagine that raven ended up at Winterfell,” Rhaella reminded her pouty face. “And Jon was a long, long way north of there by then. He went to the Wall, remember?”

“He said he was going to see the end of the world,” Dany said, leaning over to pull one of Jon’s many letters from her bedside drawer. “See? He said they were riding their ponies north to see his Uncle Benjam.”

“Benjen, love.”

“Yes, him.” Dany traced a gentle finger over Jon’s words. “When does he get here? My dragons miss his dragon.”

“Soon,” Rhaella said, and she scooped Dany up and put her back under the blankets with the dragon eggs. She’d begun to sleep with them in those first weeks here. None of them had had the heart to stop her; to explain that they weren’t the dragon eggs of old. They were stone to their core. Daenerys would simply have to learn that the hard way. “A moon or thereabouts.”

“But that’s, like, forever.”

Dany’s face fell, her lip trembling. 

“It’s not so long,” Rhaella reminded her. “We’ve been away from him for five moons already. One more moon is only a fifth of that time.”

“A fifth? Only one part of five?”

“Yes, love, one finger instead of a whole hand.”

Dany buried herself down into the blankets, frowning, considering her fingers. “I guess that’s not  _ so _ long. Will he be here for his nameday?”

“We’re hoping so,” Rhaella said. “And if so, I’ll expect you and Aegon and Rhaenys to help him learn court life quickly so he’s not overwhelmed.”

And Rhaella hoped he wouldn’t be, but Jon was the outsider now. The one of four who had not yet found his place in the Targaryen’s most prominent home. He’d been separated. Left out on his own with experiences the other three had not had. And those nightmares…

She came back to their dread no matter how many nights passed with Daenerys’s peaceful slumber. Lyanna had made no mention of them in her few letters. Jon hadn’t either, but both children had struggled enough just to vocalize their dreams before their separation. Writing them out was a far more exhausting exercise.

“I’ll show him everything, Mama,” Dany assured her, clutching the black and scarlet egg in a one-armed hug. “You’ll see. I’ll show him where the library is, and tell him the names of all the dragon skulls in the throne room, and show him where he can practice with his sword, and how to sneak the best cakes from the kitchens and—”

“Best not tell me any more of your secret mischiefs,” Rhaella warned teasingly. “Or else you’ll have a much harder time getting away with them, hmm?”

Dany grinned at her, a little smile now full of half a dozen holes. Every day it reminded Rhaella of Jon. She wondered how many new teeth he had growing in now. How many more he’d lost. Six months was so short at her age, but so long for a child in countless ways.

“Sleep well, Daenerys.”

She kissed her brow and blew out the candles.

* * *

Morning led her to the training yard, just in sight of the Tower of the Hand. Even from below, Rhaella could see her eldest’s pale head and crown glinting in the early morning sunlight from the high window. Working out tourney details no doubt, but it was young Aegon who held her focus today.

Elia was already present, in a golden gown as dazzling as the morning sun. Both Rhaenys and Aegon were in the yard, Rhaenys already sweating and swinging, knocking Garlan Tyrell about. The boy seemed too alarmed at fighting a princess to even raise his sword at her. Nothing about his timidness dissuaded Rhaenys.

“What’s the point of holding a sword if you aren’t going to use it?” she demanded, and she knocked him right upside his helmeted head with a firm, sure stroke.

Nearby, Ser Lewyn was helping Loras with the last of his padding as Rhaella took a seat beside Elia.

“How have they been?”

In answer, Garlan gave a high-pitched squawk as Rhaenys hit him again.

“I think they  _ both _ miss their brother,” Elia told her, though her eyes were fixed on Loras and Aegon. “But Aegon…”

Rhaella saw it the moment she turned to the two boys. Loras was suited up, his sword held perfectly, his stance prepared to spar, and Aegon; oh, her sweet boy.

Her little grandson had stars in his eyes. He looked entirely stunned by his new companion, his cheeks pink, his eyes wide. Loras was a handsome boy, pretty truthfully, just as his sister was. Brown eyes and golden-brown hair, a thin and neat face. In a decade's time, Rhaella was certain all the ladies at court would be swooning over him. But right now, Aegon had taken notice, and his own confusion and embarrassment were clear.

She’d suspected a little since joining them in King’s Landing, but that look confirmed some part of her concerns. 

Loras frowned at him, uncertain. “You have to raise your sword and shield,” he told Aegon. “Like this.”

Loras demonstrated, and Aegon, blushing and still half-staring, hurried to mimic him. He almost over-balanced before catching himself. Their sparring began. Ser Lewyn carefully instructed the first few rounds, but all their worries melted away as the boys grew more accustomed to each other. They’d had no reason to fear, it seemed. Loras was tough, but he seemed to sense Aegon’s hesitancy and didn’t prey upon it as weakness.

“A good match,” Rhaella said softly, but Elia’s frown remained. “He’s young still,” she added. “Only time will give answers.”

Elia nodded once, swallowed hard. Every day with Aegon gave Rhaella deeper concerns about his suitability as a future king. He had a good heart, much like his father, and the intelligence to rule, but he was so unsure of himself, so hesitant, nervous. And this, if it were true…

_ It’s been true of other men and ladies before. And this is no reason to think he could not serve the realm wisely and fairly. _

But part of ruling meant siring heirs to come after him. Not an impossible task either way, but his future seemed much more blurred for every day Rhaella spent here in the city with him.

She reached over and squeezed Elia’s hand. Silent in their worries, but together all the same. Time would offer answers—and perhaps solutions, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my sweet lil Aegon. -squishes him- 
> 
> And so I leave you here, mere steps away from Jon and Dany's first reunion (How many will there be? Even I can't answer that at this point). Originally, I had Rhaella's POV carrying over into Jon's arrival, buuuut it works better for our next POV instead.
> 
> So they reunite next week, and we shall see what all may have changed. Next up is Rhagar, then probably Dany, and -checks notes- Elia? Jury's still out on that.
> 
> Until next time.


	12. RHAEGAR II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions happen, dream shenanigans are revealed, and Rhaegar spends time with his boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it late? -check phone- Nope, a few minutes to midnight, so it is still teeeechnically Tuesday. Just squeaking in at the last minute with this one. Having some mouth problems again (and more antibiotics and all of that to hopefully put an end to the nonsense).
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

Three weeks after the Tyrells’ arrival, the ship bearing Lyanna and Jon sailed into Blackwater Bay and docked at the river’s edge. 

Just the sight of it dotted along the shore sent Rhaegar’s heart into a panic. Had six months apart—separate from all the rest—done harm? Had he blundered once more?

He’d not dared to ask his mother’s opinion on the matter. Rhaella hadn’t mentioned any of it since Dragonstone, but Rhaegar wasn’t a complete fool. She’d disliked his decisions since he’d made them. And perhaps for good reason. The more time Rhaegar had to consider it, the more he regretted sending Jon off so quickly. Sending Jon to the North—giving Lyanna a chance to see her family—was a risk. His wife may find peace and relief in her home, but their son may not. Jon might despise him more than he ever had before.

Of the hundreds of ravens that Jon had sent south, not one had been for him. Most had been for Daenerys, others for Aegon and Rhaenys, a handful even for Rhaella. But not a single one for his father. Lord Stark’s word had not been absent, but his wife and son’s had.

_ He cannot hate me forever. I must make sure he has no reason to feel such a way going forward. This time, I must try to be as he needs me. _

And that was his plan, now they were all here together. To focus on Jon more. To invite him into the exhaustive landscape that was court in King's Landing. If he and Jon could find commonality, even one thing for bonding, they may get back the close bond he’d once shared with his infant son.

Daenerys, Aegon, and Rhaenys could hardly contain their excitement when he joined them in the entrance hall. All three were running about the room, grinning and bouncing and being as noisy as possible.

“At least Cersei is gone,” Elia muttered as Rhaenys hoisted Daenerys up onto her back and ran around with her. “I can only imagine her words to this racket.”

Rhaegar nodded in agreement. Lord Baratheon’s wife had done little to impress and a great deal to irritate.

“I’m the great Black Dread,” Rhaenys bellowed, Dany’s arms and legs hooked around her tight as she spread her arms out. “Swooning down the Blackwater Rush to grab my baby brother in my great huge teeth!”

Dany let out a shout, too, waving her arm as if she held a sword aloft. Aegon laughed and ran from them, far quicker without someone on his back. 

Lord Arryn arrived in a flurry, a scroll of parchment in hand. “The final list of costs for the tourney, Your Grace.We’ve made a note of every expense, even the potentials if unrest arises.”

“Thank you. I’ll review it this evening.” 

Outside in the courtyard, the calls went up, the portcullis grinding and creaking upward. The kingsguard led them outside to meet them.

“There he is!” Dany bellowed, still on Rhaenys’s back. “Jon!”

She pushed herself back to the ground, and before anyone could stop her, Dany was darting across the courtyard to Jon sitting high on his pony. Even from a distance, he looked older. Rhaegar’s chest swelled at the sight of him, a smile fighting through his usual gloom. His son had grown. A little taller perhaps, his hair longer, his pony looking smaller in comparison than it had before. He wore the dragon circlet that matched Daenerys’s. 

When he managed to dismount on his own without issue, Rhaegar could see the change. He’d always struggled with that before.

“Dany!”

They crashed together in a big hug, then tumbled to the ground as Rhaenys and Aegon barreled into them. Laughter filled the afternoon air as the four embraced on the rough stone. Lyanna dismounted behind them, Ser Arthur beside her.

Rhaella went to greet her. “It’s been too long,” she said as they embraced. “How was Winterfell?”

“Cold. Beautiful. Wonderful.” When they broke apart, Rhaegar saw the happiness still lingering in Lyanna’s eyes; the bone-deep contentment that the North had brought to his second wife. She’d not looked as such since they’d wed at the Gods Eye. “How has King’s Landing been?”

“An adjustment,” Rhaella said.

“Better now we’re all together,” Rhaegar added, and Lyanna gave him a small nod. It wasn’t exactly kind, but it lacked the hostility he’d grown accustomed to. “Lyanna, this is Lord Arryn, my Hand.”

She curtseyed to him as Lord Arryn bowed. “I trust your brother is well at Winterfell?”

“Very,” Lyanna told him. “His wife gave birth to another son while we were there. Brandon after our brother.”

A sad reminder, but it was interrupted by Jon.

“Grandmother!”

He dove into Rhaella’s arms then, bigger and heavier, but just as sweet as he’d ever even. Rhaella scooped him up and hugged him tight. Relief filled Rhaegar just to watch them, to know so little had changed in six months, but it brought all the festering fears of that time right to the surface. They prickled under his skin like needles. If Jon loved them all the same, then surely he would reject him still.

Rhaella held him until he fought to get down, then he and Dany were hugging tight again.

“You better have the other egg,” Dany told him. “My two have missed it.”

“It’s in my trunk,” Jon said, grinning. A whole assortment of new teeth were in that smile now, sprouting like ivory weeds. “They can be friends again tonight.”

Rhaenys stared down at them, frowning. “You got  _ taller _ .”

Jon shrugged. “I guess.”

“But not as tall as  _ me _ ,” she added. Then she punched him in the shoulder. “You’re still my baby brother.”

That earned her a pair of scowls from Dany and Jon before Aegon intervened.

“Jon isn’t a baby,” he said, and that ended it there.

Elia greeted Lyanna not unkindly, a quick nod and word, but it was Jon turning to him that stilled the gathering. Rhaegar hesitated to approach him first, to give Jon that moment to glare or yell, even to hit him as he had before on Dragonstone. But the moment passed, and then another. Rhaegar closed the distance and lifted his son into his arms. 

“I’ve missed you,” Rhaegar told him, and to his surprise, Jon hugged him tight, too. “How was your first trip to the North?”

“I liked all the weirwoods,” Jon said as he was set back on his feet. Holding him for too long now seemed too great a risk to upset him. “And the snow! Robb and me had about a hundred snowball fights.”

“You can fight with snow?” Aegon frowned at him. “How does that work?”

Jon considered the question. “Well, it’s got to be the right kind of snow, so you can make bigger shapes with it. We tried to make a snow wolf once, but we couldn’t get the head to stay put.”

“Could we make a dragon with it?”

“Probably. Although a real dragon would melt it.”

They headed back to the main hall together, Lord Arryn awaiting them at the entrance. Rhaegar paused Jon before him for introductions.

“Lord Arryn, my son, Prince Jaehaerys.”

He tensed as he announced Jon, expecting a raging denial of his Targaryen name, but his son didn’t even frown. He shook Lord Arryn’s offered hand firmly.

“You’re Father’s Hand,” Jon said, eyeing the older man curiously. “Uncle Ned said you were like a second father to him.”

“I suppose I was,” Lord Arryn agreed. “He fostered with me in the Eyrie for many years, much like you were just doing with him.”

Jon stared up at Rhaegar without a hint of anger or dislike. “Did you ever foster with Lord Arryn?”

“No,” Rhaegar told him, resting a hopeful hand on his shoulder. “I spent my youth here and on Dragonstone.”

“Like Aegon is?”

“If you trade the trips to Dorne for Summerhall instead,” Rhaella said, smiling down at Jon. His presence seemed to have brought a final hint of peace to her. She’d been jumpy ever since they’d arrived in King’s Landing. Another tug of guilt stirred in Rhaegar’s chest, but there was nothing for it. She could not stay hidden on Dragonstone forever. Just as they could not make public all the horror Aerys had given her for so many years. His mother hadn’t wanted that.

They headed through the main hall and into the lesser feast hall. An early dinner had been set, just for the family. Lord Arryn bowed to them and departed. Overall, it was a wonderful, albeit loud meal. The children couldn’t stop smiling. Jon pulled his chair right around the end to sit beside Dany while Rhaenys peppered him with a million questions about the Wall. Rhaegar had to bite his tongue not to scold him for it, but he managed it and watched instead. 

Even six months apart their bond was as fierce as before. He could see hints of all that Elia and Rhaella had been nudging at since Dragonstone. The way they gravitated toward one another, the endless twinkle in their eyes, how well they already understood one another with a few short words. It was, as Rhaella had put it, the foundation for a strong and happy marriage. Perhaps the first in their family in decades.

He hoped for such a union for all three of his children, and his sister and brother, too. Viserys had been more quiet than death since his departure for Casterly Rock. Not a raven or a visit, no messengers sent with items or requests for anything forgotten. His sudden hush might have been eerie if not for Lord Tywin’s reports and word from young Lord Dondarrion whom Rhaegar had sent along with him. Lord Beric was not much, all flaming swords and theatrics more than astute lord, but he’d not failed in his ravens thus far. Lord Tywin’s words were consistent and timely, but difficult to trust with the state of their relationship. Every stiff, calculated message on Viserys’s education and progress was not near the same as the words direct from Viserys himself.

_ Will you fair as well as Jon seems to have at Winterfell, Viserys? Or will all our worries come to pass? _

“Yes, yes, it’s been the same for Jon,” Lyanna’s voice broke through his doomful thoughts. “I wondered, but in letters, I dare not ask.”

Rhaegar glanced at her, and then his mother. They and Elia were seated around him, the children at the far end of the table.

“I thought to ask you,” Rhaella said. “But when Daenerys’s nightmares stopped, I hoped Jon’s had, too.”

“They’ve stopped?” Rhaegar turned to his wife. Lyanna glanced at him, hesitant. “Lord Stark said on the road north—”

“It was rough for those first few weeks,” Lyanna told them. “Endless nightmares, new ones. He refused to sleep at all at some points of the journey, but after we settled into Winterfell, they seemed to vanish. Isn’t that so, Jon?”

Their son had been listening. It was clear from the look on his face, even though Rhaenys, Aegon, and Dany were still going on and on about how big a lion’s paws were. Jon’s dark eyes flickered from his mother to Rhaella and finally to Rhaegar. At once, Rhaegar could tell something was hidden. His eyes were a shield as much as his name.

“Yes, Mother.”

And that was new, too. Elia gave Lyanna a surprised look, and Rhaella echoed the word as Jon turned back to his siblings and Dany.

“Mother? When did that start?”

“A few moons ago,” Lyanna admitted. “He still slips up sometimes, but I think hearing Aegon and Rhaenys and then Robb use it was enough.”

Rhaella squeezed her hand where it rested on the table. “A hard first, but inevitable. I remember when Rhaegar made the change. Be glad he was six and not three.”

That earned her a few laughs from his wives.

“Mother, I hardly think—”

“No, please, do tell us about our three-year-old king trying to say the word mother,” Elia said, her eyes glowing in delight. “How bad was his pronunciation?”

“I believe it was ‘Mowmer’ for a while.”

His wives had a good laugh at his expense, but it was harmless enough. King he might be, but his ego was not yet so enormous to shrivel at a gentle jest.

“Yes, well, Jon seems to have grasped the word better than I did,” Rhaegar said. He waved away the dessert plate one of the servants moved to set before him. “None for me this evening. I think sleep is what I need most for tomorrow, not sweets.”

The children had no such hesitations. They each had a plate of what Daenerys had insisted was their individual favorites, yet somehow, those four tarts ended up split between four mouths.

He departed for his chambers indeed, trusting his mother and wives to handle putting them to bed. And while Rhaegar reviewed the expenses for the tourney and the ravens from Starfall and Tarth, and even one from Pyke, he could not settle comfortably. Jon sprang back into his mind repeatedly. Questions of how he was settling into his chambers, if anything had been missed in his lists of necessary items and books and clothing. But moreso, it was that hidden secret in his son’s eyes that distracted him.

_ Surely, he could not hide his nightmares from Lyanna. Others perhaps, but not his own mother. She loves him too dearly to miss that. _

It seemed an absurd notion. Jon’s nightmares had been loud and volatile, impossible to ignore for the screaming and crying that had followed. Perhaps for brief stints, hidden in his own chambers behind Winterfell’s thick walls, Jon might have kept them hidden. But not on the road to the Wall in a small camp, nor a ship’s cabin shared with his mother. Secrets in close quarters usually eroded quickly.

He set aside the list of expenses and made his way down to the wing below where all the children’s chambers were. Both Rhaenys and Aegon were asleep when he poked his head in, but Dany’s room was empty. Her stone eggs were missing, too.

Already exasperated, Rhaegar marched back into the hall and down to Jon’s door. It was closed like the rest, but when he entered the sitting room, he could hear Dany’s happy voice prattling away from the attached bedchamber.

“See? I told you they missed yours. Here, put it in the middle so your dragon can get extra snuggles from both of them.”

When he peered into the bedchamber, he found all three rocks in a row seated up against one of Jon’s pillows. Dany tucked them in carefully, gave each a kiss. Jon was already in bed beside them, frowning. For a moment, Rhaegar almost burst inside to separate them, to stop what they clearly intended to continue. But they’d already decided, hadn’t they? Beyond all his plans and expectations and ideals, Jon and Daenerys simply found their way to one another.

And so he watched them instead. Perhaps, if he could understand their bond more; if he could see its truth now before decisions were made…

_ It’s just the bond of childhood, not whatever Mother seems to believe. _

And she was turning as foolish as he’d been in her old age. Reading up on prophecies, learning more about dreams and even pockets of their ancestors he’d never researched thoroughly. Some days, Rhaegar didn’t quite know what to make of his mother’s new late night hobby. If it helped her cope with King’s Landing, then he could find peace with it, but if it furthered his old beliefs—if it instilled those same warped ideas in Jon or Daenerys—he’d have to put an end to it.

“They’re happy together,” Jon was saying, his voice soft and sad. “No nightmares for baby dragons.”

Dany climbed right into the bed with him and under the covers. She took his face in her hands and gave him a little shake.

“No nightmares at all,” she said, and for her that had been thankfully true since she’d left Dragonstone. “King’s Landing doesn’t have nightmares.”

“Winterfell did,” Jon muttered. Each word seemed to cost him all his strength. “And the road north of it and Last Hearth and Castle Black and the ship back, too.”

Hearing his confession froze Rhaegar’s insides. He’d lied to Lyanna, and his uncles, had somehow managed to keep his terror a secret for months on end. His throat seemed to close up as he pictured it, imagined that same frantic fury and fear from his last visit to Dragonstone, all bottled up and trapped inside his little son.

Dany seemed upset, too. “But they stopped like mine did,” she repeated. “Even Auntie Lya said so.”

“Mama doesn’t know,” Jon admitted. “And I—you can’t tell her. She can’t ever, ever know, Dany. I won’t be why she’s sad. You gotta promise.”

“But Jon—”

“Mama can’t be sad because of me.”

Dany didn’t answer right away, and it both hurt to watch as much as it made him proud of his little sister. Even at six, she recognized what Jon was asking; that lying about this for him would not help her best friend. Keeping his terrors hidden wouldn’t help anyone.

“They’ll stop here,” she said instead, rumpling his curls. “It might take some days first, but they go away here.”

“And if they don’t?”

He looked exhausted just asking, and when Dany didn’t speak immediately, Jon pushed closer and buried himself in her arms.

“They will,” she told him. “If I don’t have any, then you don’t either.”

But that hadn’t been true for the last six moons it seemed. If anything, it sounded as though Jon’s had grown darker and more frequent. Rhaegar watched them a moment longer, Dany hugging him close and assuring him they’d have no bad dreams this night, before turning away. He came face to face with his second wife then, her hair loose around her shoulders, already in her night clothes.

“I didn’t expect you here,” she said quietly as Rhaegar shut the bedchamber door. “I came to make sure he’d settled in for the night. And Daenerys—”

“She’s with him,” Rhaegar said, but the hollowed out ache of sorrow at Jon’s confession rid his voice of any annoyance. “Lyanna, we should talk.”

“We should.”

Her agreement surprised him, especially when she didn’t know what it was he had to tell her. But then, they had years of things to discuss; some far too late to be on consequence now. She led him from Jon’s chambers and around the corner to where Elia, Rhaella, and Lyanna’s rooms were. For the most part, he’d left Lyanna’s chambers for his mother to design. Terrible as it was, Rhaella knew his second wife better than he did anymore.

She took a seat in an armchair beside the open balcony doors. For Rhaegar the light evening wind was chilly, but Lyanna seemed to relish it. He took a seat in the armchair opposite her.

“It’s about Jon,” he said, before she could start on whatever she had in mind. Right now, their son’s continued, hidden night terrors seemed more pressing than what they’d already been pushing on for years. “I went to see him, make sure he was settling well, and—”

“Daenerys will do as she wishes,” Lyanna said, and a steely note had entered her voice. “The more you try to stop them, the more they’ll push toward one another.”

“It’s not that.” Though he still had a conversation in mind for that particular issue. “They were talking about their nightmares, Lyanna. Jon’s been hiding them. From you.” Her entire face seemed to cave in. “He tried to get Dany to swear she wouldn’t tell you.”

“He—no. Jon’s been sleeping beside me for weeks and months now,” Lyanna said, shaking her head. She stood and hugged herself. “If he’d woken in tears or screaming, I would have known.”

Rhaegar sighed. “I don’t know beyond what I heard him say, but he’s still been having them. And he…”

“What?”

At the fierceness in her voice, he held strong. “He said he’d been hiding them because he didn’t want to be the reason you’re sad, Lyanna. That he’s trying to, I don’t know, protect you from—”

“It’s my job to protect him,” she snapped, and the first tears began to shine in her eyes. “Not the other way around. How could he think that he could ever be the reason for such a thing? Jon is the only good in my—”

Lyanna stopped, meeting his eyes uncomfortably. Then she wiped away her tears and made for the door.

“Lyanna—”

“I won’t have him thinking such untrue things,” she told him, heading for Jon’s rooms. “He shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. And gods, how many months has he already been doing so?”

Rhaegar hurried after her, catching her by the arm just outside Jon’s door. “I don’t know. And as far as Jon knows, we don’t know any of this either. If you go charging in there now, you’ll force him to deal with all of this tonight. He’s exhausted, upset, and he…” Rhaegar clenched his jaw before continuing, “He’s finally back with Daenerys, and she understands this better than any of us. Let him have peace tonight.”

She hesitated, glancing at their son’s door and then back to him.

“Even if he has another nightmare, he’s got Daenerys with him,” Rhaegar said. “I imagine that’s what he would prefer more than either of us.”

To his surprise, she laughed as she pulled her arm free from his grasp.

“You seem almost more invested in them together than they are.”

“It isn’t that,” he said at once. “They’re children, not grown.”

“Betrothals aren’t so uncommon at their age.”

“No, but right now, they both need more exposure to court life, to how Westeros truly works, and with their nightmares—if it means this for a time to get them through it…”

“And if they don’t stop? I was so relieved when I thought his had, Rhaegar, and now you tell me he’s been lying to me for months?” She rubbed her face, swiped more tears aside. “Gods, I don’t even know how to start that conversation with him. How to make certain he knows it wasn’t Dany who told me. I couldn’t bear to upset their relationship when they’ve just reunited.”

“I’ll speak with him.” He frowned at her disbelieving look. “What? I’m his father, Lyanna.”

“You’ve rarely been much of one before now.”

And he didn’t argue the point. Just a few hours with Jon today had proven that much to him. His son’s life was so disconnected from his own, so much was unknown, or pointedly lacking him. When Jon had been smaller, it had been enough to pop over to Dragonstone every few months to see him. But Jon was near seven now. A young man already with so much going on that Rhaegar had done nothing to help him with.

“It’s past time I became what he needs,” Rhaegar told her. “And I was the one who overheard them, not you. I’ll talk with him, Lya. After all these years, its time I carry my weight when it comes to raising our son.”

She gave him a long, considering look, then began to walk around him as if she hoped to spot a lie somewhere on his clothes.

“I once thought the world of you,” she said. “And Jon did, too, as much as an infant can. How do I know you won’t make this worse? Like on Dragonstone when your decision had him scaling the tower and somehow not killing himself in the process?”

“You don’t.” And it was as simple as that bit of honesty. His words could offer her no guarantees of anything anymore. “But if this were Dragonstone again, would I have really just left him and Daenerys in there together for the night?”

She didn’t answer at once, instead returned to her chambers and reclaimed her armchair. Rhaegar shut the balcony doors against the chill and waited.

“He needs a father. A man to show him what’s expected of him once he’s grown,” Lyanna said softly. “I can teach him the sword and the basics expected of all highborns, but gods, Rhaegar, if you could have seen him with Ned. Or your uncle on the Wall. They way he just soaked up every word they uttered, how he just hungered to learn more from them. It’s all he really wants is someone to fill that hole you’ve left for him.”

“I didn’t leave a hole.” But she was shaking his head before Rhaegar could even finish his sentence.

“Of course you did. Ser Arthur is a guard, not a father. Viserys was just a boy, nothing more. Who was there to fill that role when you left us to come back here? Who was there when he was looking for you?”

They were thoughts he’d had, realizations in the last few years that had propelled him toward his decisions to have Jon and Daenerys and Viserys move on from Dragonstone. It would open the island up for Aegon’s eventual lordship there. Jon could find his place in a larger world, and Rhaegar could find the best place for him once he was a man. Whether a knight in King’s Landing, or a lord of his own castle elsewhere, many paths were open to a young prince. 

“I’ll speak with him in the morning,” Rhaegar said again. “He’s to spend most of the day with me and Aegon.”

She only nodded, then turned away to stare out her balcony doors to the cloudy night beyond.

* * *

Morning brought rain and an early rise before dawn. Ser Arthur was already posted outside Jon’s door when Rhaegar went to wake him.

“Sleeping still, Your Grace.”

“Good. I hoped he’d have a restful night with Daenerys at his side.”

His old friend looked surprised, and at a quick hand motion Ser Barristan appeared from the alcove that hid the room attached to Jon’s. It was exasperating that they would cover for their charges even to him, but he appreciated their loyalty, too.

They bowed him into the sitting room, the curtains pulled back to the drizzly morning. Shades of gray painted the horizon as it began to lighten with the sunrise. Rhaegar knocked softly on the bedchamber door, and got a big surprise when it was flung open. Daenerys greeted him with a big frown and her hands on her hips.

“You’re gonna wake him up!”

She looked so stern and fierce as she glared up at him. Yet it all melted away in an instant when he scooped her up into his arms.

“And so are you if you shout like that,” he told her, giving her tummy a quick tickle that brought a smile to her face. “I trust you both slept well?”

Dany hummed affirmatively and kissed his cheek. “Jon slept all night,” she said. “I told him he would ‘cause King’s Landing doesn’t have nightmares.”

“Yes, not like he’s been having since he left us.”

She flinched, tugging away from him and back to her own feet. “How’d you know that?”

“Fathers know lots of things,” Rhaegar said. “And brothers know that little sisters best get back to their own bed before Mother wakes to find you missing.”

“Mama knows.” 

For Dany that seemed to settle the matter, though Rhaegar was certain that Rhaella had no real idea of where Daenerys was. Not that she wouldn’t be able to guess. Years together on Dragonstone had no doubt made her initial instinct for fear at finding Daenerys’s room empty in the morning nonexistent. She was with Jon, of course. Where else would she be?

“Does she know because you told her last night? Or are you assuming she knows?”

That got her. With a few nudges and orders, Daenerys was out the door and back to her rooms. Rhaegar shut the bedchamber door behind her. His son was sprawled out on his bed, three stone eggs tucked under the blankets with him, the bedding wrinkled where Daenerys had slept at his side.

“Jon, time to wake up.” He gave him a gentle shake that Jon completely ignored. “It’s morning.”

His son slept like the dead. In seven years, Rhaegar had ever had to wake him before, and it proved incredibly difficult when Jon slept true and deep. Jon turned and grumbled and fought at every urging. Finally, Rhaegar scooped him right up into his lap as Jon wriggled and tried his best to get back under the blankets.

“Son, it’s time for breakfast.”

“Eggs?”

“If you’d like,” Rhaegar said, and slowly Jon seemed to realize who’s arms he was in. His little son twisted around and stared up at him. “You’re to spend the day with me and Aegon, but I wanted to talk with you first.”

“I’m in trouble.” 

Jon didn’t even flinch at the idea. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as Ser Arthur appeared in the doorway. Aegon would have already been in tears at the very prospect of having done wrong.

“You aren’t,” Rhaegar told him before turning to the knight. “Have breakfast brought, Ser Arthur. Plenty of eggs.”

The knight bowed and left. Rhaegar gave his son another minute to wake before he carried him into the next room. Targaryen banners lined the walls, and one of the smaller dragon skulls had been brought up to sit in the corner at Dany’s insistence. He took a seat on the sofa with Jon on his lap.

“How did you sleep?”

“Good. Dany was right that—”

But he stopped there, realized he’d said things that complicated his secrets of the last several months.

“Right about your nightmares not happening here?”

He was caught and he knew it as he glanced around and realized Daenerys was no longer there. Unlike Rhaenys there was no denial or dodging. Jon held his gaze and nodded.

“Is she in trouble, too?”

“No, neither of you are. If it helps alleviate your nightmares for right now, then it’s fine.”

Jon clearly didn’t believe him. He pushed off Rhaegar’s lap and glared up at him. “She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. She  _ promised _ .”

“And she didn’t tell, so her promise remains unbroken. I came to see you last night and overheard what you said.”

Jon watched as servants brought in platters of food for breakfast, then waited until they were alone again.

“Prove it.”

Aegon never would have dared to challenge him in such a way. In a decade or two maybe, but not this young. Jon had a will entirely his own, and a complete lack of fear no matter who he was facing. He was very like his mother in that regard. For a moment, he could she her at Harrenhal, tugging her mismatched helmet from her head, her laughing weirwood tree shield at her side.

“She tucked all the eggs in under the blankets and insisted yours go in the middle so it could snuggles from the other two.”

Those words seem to do it, and all at once the guilt he’d seen on his son’s face the night before was back at the surface. 

“Jon, whatever reason you might have for thinking it untrue, your mother is happiest with you.”

“She was happiest at Winterfell,” Jon muttered. “And  _ I _ was ruining it.”

Jon climbed off the sofa and went to the little table where his food awaited him. He stabbed moodily at his eggs. Missing the resemblance to himself would have been impossible at that moment.

“And why do you think that?”

“Cause we—and then she—” Jon made a frustrated noise and stabbed his eggs again until the yolk ran all over the plate. “I thought it was you that made her sad. Or Dragonstone maybe, but it followed her to Winterfell, so it’s me.”

“Is that so?” Rhaegar pulled a chair over to sit beside Jon and made his son face him. “You think your mother's feelings are your responsibility instead of her own?”

Jon didn’t answer.

“Was Ser Arthur not also in both places? How do you know it wasn’t his presence making her sad?”

Jon’s mouth twisted, but he still didn’t answer. 

“Perhaps it’s certain weather, if its too warm or too rainy,” Rhaegar continued. “Perhaps its when she wears a certain dress or cloak. Or perhaps, sometimes, your mother is just sad because she is.” Rhaegar sighed when Jon shook his head. “Your nightmares worry all of us; make all of us sad. And seeing you hurting or sad will certainly make your mother worry. But you cannot control how she feels, Jon. In some ways, she cannot either. Just like when you get mad or upset. You cannot stop the feelings, only control your actions that stem from them.”

“Like not being scared and upset when I wake up, then Mama doesn’t have to be either.”

“And you think she won’t be when she learns you’ve been hiding this from her? Don’t you see that will hurt her even more?”

“It—she doesn’t need to know.”

“Jon.” Those big gray eyes peered up at him, tired, frightened, already carrying so much more weight than was needed. Rhaegar picked him up and hugged him. “Lyanna loves you more than anyone else in existence. And just as you’re trying to protect her, she wants to protect and help you. Shutting her out does not ease your nightmares. It does not make them disappear or turn to wonderful dreams. All it does is isolate you from everyone else. Do you understand?”

Jon frowned. “They’re my nightmares.”

“And Daenerys’s, too, yes? You think it fair to her to ask her to keep secrets from everyone, especially if she then has to watch how much that secret hurts you?”

“No,” Jon muttered. “I don’t want to be why they’re sad, that’s all.”

“And you think a few bad dreams do that?” Rhaegar gave him a tickle that earned him a fleeting little smile. “Do you realize how many times a day Daenerys talks about you? Or how much Aegon has missed having you in the training yard? And your mother, gods, Jon, the way she smiles just thinking about you. Do you really think you’re what makes her sad sometimes with how much she adores you?”

That earned him a smile, and then a giggle when he tickled Jon again.

“Dany says I’m her favorite,” Jon said. “And Mama—Mother says I’m her sweet wolf. And sometimes her little dragon.”

“She’s very right on both counts.” He sat Jon back in his chair. “You’ll talk to your mother this evening about your dreams, understood?”

“Yes, Father.” Jon speared an egg with his fork and raised an eyebrow at it before he stuffed it into his mouth. “If it’s so important for me to talk to Mother about my dreams, why’d you stop writing to Uncle Aemon about yours?”

“Aemon?” It took a moment for the name to register with a person. He’d thought so little of the Wall since Jon’s birth. In many ways, he’d pushed all to do with it from every corner of his mind. “Those weren’t dreams, Jon. Ideas, fantasies. Nothing more.”

“But you wrote him lots and lots. For longer than I’ve been alive!” Jon shoved another egg into his mouth and ran back into his bedchamber. He returned with a great big book that he slammed down on the table. “He saved all of your letters. About the Others and the Wall and the Prospect Prince.”

“The Prince Who was Promised,” Rhaegar corrected. He flinched at how easily it all came back to him, but then he’d spent years of his life devoted to studying prophecies and tales and anything revolving around another Great War. “That was a long time ago.”

Jon only handed him letter after letter from the hollowed out book. “He, um, he said other Targaryens had had dragon dreams, like me and Dany. And that he was sad you stopped writing, Father. He’s all alone up there with no other dragons. Why’d you stop?”

Rhaegar stared down at his own hand, less neat and looping than it was now. A letter from his younger years, when he’d been Viserys’s age at most.

“It turned out that prophecy was not true, Jon, that’s all. After that there was no reason to keep talking about it.”

Jon picked a letter up at random and pretended to read it. “Because of me?”

“Because life is meant to be lived day by day, not by centuries old words gone through countless translations.” Rhaegar put the letters back into the old book, stamped down the bit of guilt the sight of them brought. Aemon had kept every single one it seemed. Years and years of conversations that Rhaegar had dismissed. “Finish your breakfast, Jon. We have a long day ahead.”

Jon let him tuck the letters back into the old book and set it aside.

“Will you write to him again? He misses your letters.”

Rhaegar glanced at his son’s hopeful face. “Not about such things, but I’ll send him a raven. How’s that?”

Jon beamed. “Great! We can send it with mine and Dany’s and Egg’s and Rhae’s. We’re  _ all _ going to write him, so he’s always got letters for Uncle Benjen to read to him.”

“Read to him?”

“His eyes went out,” Jon explained, stuffing more eggs into his mouth. “Like when the moon goes away only they didn’t come back.”

He hadn’t known that and it eclipsed the guilt he was already feeling. His oldest relation, just a feeble old man who’d chosen life on the Wall, and he’d not done his part to stay in touch. As a king, it might be acceptable to not write to Castle Black’s maester, but as a distant nephew, it wasn’t.

“I’ll be back with Aegon soon so we can start our day.”

Jon nodded and shoved his last fried egg into his mouth. Rhaegar smiled and kissed the top of his head. Perhaps that was all Jon needed, just as Lyanna said. A father’s guidance instead of absence. It wasn’t as though he were another Aerys descending into madness and rage and cruelty. Aegon and Rhaenys were proof enough he could serve well as a father.

But how he could be so many things at once still needed work.

* * *

Jon’s first walk of the Red Keep took most of the morning. Aegon was delighted to show him where everything was, including all the windows and the view each offered of different parts of the castle and the sea. Rhaegar had never thought much of what they overlooked before. But it was clear that Aegon had.

“This one’s the training yard,” Aegon was saying, urging Jon over to the tall window in their final tower of the morning. “See? We can practice there later, if Father says it’s okay.”

“Course he will,” Jon said, and he stepped right up to the window and stuck his head out into the gray drizzle. “All the best swordsmen learn to fight in the rain. Right, Ser Arthur?”

Jon’s sworn shield gave a nod, then yanked him back inside. Ser Lewyn shut the window and locked the latch at the top.

“Coming from Dorne, it was quite an adjustment to learn to fight in rain.”

At Jon’s confused look, Aegon said, “It doesn’t rain there much.”

“I bet it’s difficult in the snow, too,” Jon offered. “Uncle Ned said sometimes it snows so much in the winter that it’s over his head.”

“Maester Pycelle says it can snow as high as the castle walls if the winter is really long.”

“Let us hope it never does so again.” Rhaegar took them both by a shoulder and guided them down the hall and back around, full-circle, to the dining hall. “Lunch first, and then we’re to meet with the Small Council.”

Aegon was old hat at sitting in on such meetings, but Rhaegar was curious how Jon would handle the new situation. 

Every member currently in King’s Landing was already present when they arrived. Lord Tyrell was eating, Lord Arryn reviewing a scroll of parchment, Maester Pycelle looking sleepy. Ser Gerold took his appointed seat as Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn stepped into the hall and shut them away.

“Your Grace, my princes, welcome.” Lord Varys slipped in from the shadows, powdered in perfume and silent in silk robes. Rhaegar liked the man little, but thus far he’d found no suitable replacement for him. Nobody else came close to the Spider’s reach and scope and influence across the realm. The eunuch’s focus turned at once to Jon. “Prince Jaehaerys, an honor, of course.”

He bowed to Jon, who seemed perplexed by the gesture. Just another consistent occurrence he would need to get comfortable with in the coming weeks. Isolated on Dragonstone, he’d had very little of the fawning and pampering that came with court. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Varys.”

Rhaegar gave Jon’s thin shoulder a squeeze, both pleased at his manners and surprised in his knowledge of their names. He met all the present lords, greeted each by name. Clearly, Lyanna had made a point to educate him on as much as she could.

They all took their seats, Jon and Aegon sharing the far side of the table opposite him. Aegon was attentive as ever, absorbing like a dry rag left in the rain. Jon, however, was looking all around, picking at the table as Lord Arryn ran through the tourney’s final numbers and who was expected to arrive in the coming days.

“We’ve made room where we can,” Lord Arryn finished, “but as always, there’s more visitors for a tourney than space in King’s Landing.”

Rhaegar nodded, unsurprised. “Camps outside for the lesser knights as usual. And see to it that the City Watch’s patrols and wages are increased for the duration, including at the camps. Space or not, I won’t have—”

“But there’s tons of space in the castle,” Jon’s voice said, and Rhaegar was surprised to find he’d even been listening. This first meeting, as expected, Jon had been far more interested in taking in the room. Apparently, he’d been listening, too. “We’ve got all those empty rooms from this morning, Father. Why can’t they stay there?”

Aegon’s mouth had fallen open. In over a year of sitting in on Small Council meetings, he’d never once interrupted.

“The lords and ladies that come to visit will be housed in the castle,” Rhaegar explained. “And for our security, we cannot have too many unknown peoples inside. It’s too much of a risk to you boys, your sister, and Daenerys.”

Jon frowned, but nodded. He slumped back in his seat, and went back to picking at a burn spot on the table. Rhaegar gave Aegon an encouraging nod, and back into the parchments they went. Lord Tyrell fretted about the tourney’s cost—then tried once again to push for a tourney for the Master of Ships, Lord Redwyne, when he returned for a brief visit a moon from now. Varys hovered in the background, more interested in the boys than the conversation. Lord Tarth was missing as well, still taken ill at Evenfall.

“I think that’s all for today,” Lord Arryn said, skimming back through his ledger. “No, my mistake, and we’ve put them off a week already with our young prince’s arrival. The thieves who broke into the Sept, Your Grace, and set fire to several of the altars when they could not carry the statues out.”

It was the worst part of ruling, punishing those who had committed crimes. But their laws were sacred and firm. Without their constant reinforcement, everything would crumble.

“The punishment for such crimes is death,” Rhaegar said, his voice flat. “Have them executed at dawn, Lord Arryn. And then—”

“But it’s the king’s justice.”

Jon’s little voice was quite stern, and clearly a surprise to the entire room. They weren’t used to being interrupted, especially when they’d all grown so comfortable to Aegon’s silent observation. His younger son, however, seemed intent on doing more than listening. It was exactly what Elia had been hoping for.

“Yes,” Rhaegar said, ready to explain, “and as king, I have decided on their punishment, as befits our laws—”

“But you won’t do it yourself,” Jon said, and when he cut Rhaegar off, Aegon turned to gawk at him. “You just handed it off to him, to Lord Arryn to see to it.”

“As king that is my right. The King’s Justice serves as our royal executioner.”

“Then it’s not the king’s justice,” Jon argued. “Just your word and someone else’s hand.”

“Jaehaerys, that’s quite e—”

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” Jon gave him a hard look, then glanced at each of the startled lords in turn. “That’s what Uncle Ned taught me, and Mother, too. It only gets passed to someone else if you can’t be there to do so. But you’re here.”

“Yes, that’s true. I cannot be everywhere,” Rhaegar told him, and Aegon looked terrified he would send them out or yell, though he’d rarely done so before. “As king, I need to keep the best interests of the most people in mind. Some minor tasks are passed to other hands.”

“Even when you’re ending someone’s life?”

Rhaegar didn’t have an answer for that. Lord Tyrell shifted uncomfortably, whether from the line of questioning or from eating too much, Rhaegar couldn’t tell. Maester Pycelle still looked surprised that Jon had even spoken. Lord Arryn, at least, filled the awkward silence with gentle praise.

“Lord Stark has certainly taught you well,” he said with a low chuckle. “He used to give me the same line when he was in the Eyrie as a boy.”

But silence swelled in the space as Jon awaited an answer. Lord Varys shifted his silks, Lord Arryn shuffled his papers. And finally, someone spoke for him.

“Queen Lyanna said you ought to look a man in the eye before he dies, and if you can’t, perhaps he’s not meant to die that day,” Aegon said. His voice was high-pitched from nerves, but he glanced at Jon reassuringly, and then to Ser Gerold who was frowning at both boys. “Is that not the true way of knights, Ser Gerold?”

It was a rare day when the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard was called upon for something outside of matters of security.

“Honor would hold true to such notions,” Ser Gerold said in his deep, timber voice, but when his eyes met Rhaegar’s he opened his mouth to continue. “However, circumstances—”

“Are occasionally outside of my range,” Rhaegar said, conceding the point. “For an execution in King’s Landing, however, while I am present, means I ought to at least be present. Thank you, boys, for your opinion and input. We’ll go at dawn tomorrow to see justice done.”

For Jon, that seemed to settle the matter, but Aegon’s face went from relief at having spoken without a negative consequence to alarm.

As all the men rose to say their farewells and leave, Rhaegar distinctly heard Aegon’s fretful voice whisper to Jon, “We’re going to  _ watch _ ?”

When Rhaegar glanced over Jon was shrugging. “It’ll be fine.”

And when dawn came, Rhaegar was surprised to see just how calm Jon was. He’d known Lord Stark intended to teach Jon of justice if the moment presented itself, but he’d not realized the maturity it could bring.

Morning mist filled the courtyard beside the godswood as the two men were brought forth from the cells. Rhaegar stood back with his sons as all was prepared. Aegon was fidgety, nervous, scared of the blood he knew was coming. Jon wasn’t nearly as on edge, but he kept close to his brother.

“It’ll be over quick,” Jon told him, when Rhaegar stepped up behind them. “Maybe some yelling since there’s two, but it’s alright really.”

“Says you,” Aegon muttered, almost as broody as Jon and Rhaegar. “You’ve seen it before.”

And that was true—or so Rhaegar had thought.

“I looked away,” Jon admitted. “At the last second, I got scared and just saw the blood on the ground. And the head. Uncle Ned knew I hadn’t seen it proper.”

“You really looked away?”

Jon nodded, then took Aegon's hand. “But that’s fine, right? Now we can see it together, since we’re brothers.”

That alone seemed to give Aegon the courage he needed. Rhaegar gave them each a pat on the shoulder, then stepped toward the square’s center where the two men awaited him. He spoke with them each, and said the words that were needed. They died well and quick as Ser Arthur’s  _ Dawn _ cut through flesh and blood and bone.

With one look, he knew both his sons had watched. And it was remarkable to him, as they turned back to the castle for their breakfast, how much difference Jon seemed to make in Aegon’s life; how much more vast his heir’s confidence grew with his brother’s support.

In some ways, he was glad to have sent him north, but in others, he quite wished to keep him here. Not only for a release from his night terrors, but for Aegon’s betterment as well.

_ He can stay longer than half a year. Lord Stark won’t mind it. A year here, perhaps two. Enough so they’re bonded for good and true. _

And perhaps by then, they might all go, or at least Aegon and Jon together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next is Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaany, our precious tiny girl.
> 
> And then, um, time jump???
> 
> It's Elia, but probably a time jump for us (finally). We'll see on that, but it'll happen in the next few chapters if not during hers.
> 
> Toodles until next week!!


	13. DAENERYS III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tourney begins, the boys get some presents, and the world is not so rosy as was hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late, I'm late for a vaguely important date! But it's a pandemic and time is truly an illusion and so its a Tuesday and I'm here with words and a POV that resemblances a chapter!
> 
> AKA mouth things were still afoot, I continue to have medicinal allergies, and words are hard.
> 
> Here's Dany, the last POV before we time jump. Enjoy!

Her brother Rhaegar had them all gather in the main courtyard after breakfast. Aegon’s nameday had finally arrived to start the tourney in his and Jon’s honor. Dany had been up before dawn, bouncing around and too excited to sleep any longer. She’d made Jon rise early, too, just to help her pick the best dress for fighting.

“It’s gotta be loose,” he had told her through a gigantic yawn. “Elsewise, you’ll rip it when you’re moving.”

Mother had been a bit exasperated when she’d arrived to get her ready for the day. Apparently, a sleeping shifting—even a very pretty lilac one—wasn’t proper princess attire for a tourney. She’d been put into a long flowing gown instead, red as was proper for a Targaryen, but for once she fought against it like Rhaenys. What was the fun of a tourney if she’d have to stumble around and try to fight in some poofy gown?

Aegon had explained it to them over breakfast, and both her and Jon had been disappointed.

“We only get to  _ watch _ ?” Jon had been aghast at the very idea. “But that’s no fun.”

Rhaenys had rolled her eyes. “You watch and learn, stupid.”

They’d been led to the courtyard after that, Jon and Aegon directed to cover their eyes, but Dany didn’t have to cover hers. She was quite pleased by that until the horsemaster led a pair of beautiful young stallions in from the alley that connected to the stables. Both were breathtaking, as different in looks as Jon and Aegon. But they were  _ real _ horses, not like their tiny ponies.

Rhaenys wasn’t surprised. “I got one, too, when I turned eight.”

“But Jon’s only  _ seven _ .”

Rhaenys shrugged.

Both boys gave cries of delight even before Rhaegar told them to look. The clopping of their hooves had given them away. Jon went at once to the black stallion, and Aegon to the gray. Her tummy wriggled unpleasantly. Next to her on her pony, all three of them would tower over her now.

_ They do that on our feet, too. _

She’d been thrilled to have grown some while Jon was in the North—but then he’d come back south taller than before. Everyone in King’s Landing was bigger than her. Even the baby dragon skulls in the throne room made her feel tiny.

As Jon and Aegon were helped onto their horses to have a trot around the yard, Lyanna knelt down beside her.

“Are you well, Daenerys?”

Dany nodded, her gaze fixed on the big horses, Jon and Aegon laughing from their backs. Lyanna smiled at her.

“You know, I had two older brothers growing up,” she told Dany. “And I had to sit by and watch them do everything years before I could. It’s not much fun, but in a few months, you’ll be on a horse all your own, too.”

Her heart pattered hard and fast.”Really? I’m not too little?”

That earned her another kind smile. “If your brother dares to suggest such a thing, he’ll hears so many words from me over it, he’ll wish he had no ears.”

Dany smiled at that notion. She had no doubt Lyanna would reprimand Rhaegar on her behalf. She’d always done so for Jon. And Lyanna loved her just as much, so she’d tell him off if needed.

They let the boys trot around for a while, until the great bells on the Sept rang out across the city to announce the tourney’s impending start. After that, they were gathered into their covered wagons, all except Jon, Aegon, and Rhaegar. While the women rode in the wagons, they got to ride to the pavilion on their horses. Rhaenys was quite displeased by it.

“But I can ride better than  _ all _ of them,” Rhaenys complained as they rode down the streets. She glowered through the curtains at her brothers.”Just because they’re  _ boys _ and I’m a  _ girl _ , doesn’t mean they’re any better.”

“This tourney is in their honor,” Rhaella reminded her, and while Dany knew it was more than that simple answer, she didn’t say so. “It’s prudent for them to ride in view with the king.”

Rhaenys blew a raspberry at that. 

As Rhaenys was scolded by Elia, Dany stuck her head out to see the city as they rode past. All down the hill, people had stopped and gathered to see them. She liked when they did that; when they smiled and waved and seemed happy. Rhaegar helped do that, or so Maester Pycelle was always quick to tell them. They loved their king—even if some of the lords were less kind.

Their arrival was greeted with horns and cheers from the gathering. Dany was lifted from the covered wagon by Ser Barristan, then her mother took her hand to lead the way. A huge raised platform had been built just for the royal family. Rhaegar took his seat in the middle, on the wooden throne. Aegon and Jon were to his right, excitedly pointing at all the happenings on the jousting field before them.

At once, Dany raced to the seat beside Jon.

He turned to her, beaming. “Did you seat my horse? He’s so  _ big! _ It’s like you’re flying when you sit on him.”

For a while, it was all the boys could talk of, but Rhaenys wasn’t much better company. She was moody and surly, scoffing and glaring at everyone. Dany focused on the tourney instead as the tilts began. Never before had she seen such a wonder. Horses thundered past, every rider stopped to bow to them, some of them even gave roses to ladies in the crowd down below. They were marvelous to watch, each and every one. Some rode with house banners she recognized—Blackmont’s vulture, the blue towers of House Frey, Houses Plumm and Rosby, and Lannister and Tyrell. Many ended up in the mud, but others earned roars of victory.

By the time the first rounds had ended, and they were all eating the food brought for them to feast upon, Jon’s excitement of the morning had dimmed somewhat. 

“They keep looking at me,” he muttered to her as the next pair of knights were announced to start the afternoon. Ser Arthur was one, bowing to them all, then trotting away to his starting point.

“They have to when they bow to Rhaegar,” Dany told him.

But she began to notice it then, too. It wasn’t the few small folk in her line of sight. They seemed pleased just to be close enough to see the jousting. Some of the lords and ladies, however, kept looking their way. Every now and then she spotted them in the crowd, whispering to one another, eyes skimming the royal family, and then stalling on them. On Jon most of all. 

Her best friend tried not to squirm, but there were an awful lot of people doing it. Even Rhaegar seemed to have noticed after a while. He turned to the four of them, and ruffled Jon’s curls were they stuck out of his circlet.

“Are you having fun, Jon?”

“Yes, Father.”

Rhaegar frowned a little, checked with Aegon and her and tried to get more than a scowl from Rhaenys, but failed. When he looked over their heads and exchanged a look with Rhaella, Dany knew they both understood the reasons for the looks Jon was attracting even if she didn’t. And it bugged her. Through their lunch feast, and the celebration cake for the boys, and into the archery contest’s first rounds just before evening set in, she watched the stares and whispers in growing annoyance.

They all ought to use their words to talk instead of their eyes.

“I could stare back at them, if you want,” Dany offered, and while Jon seemed to appreciate it, it did little to help.

An evening feast had been planned for the attending high lords and guests back in the Red Keep. Dany had never seen the hall quite so decorated or full. The smells of roasting meats and seasoned vegetables, buttery breads and pies spiraled through the air. Even full from lunch, her stomach rumbled in interest. 

“Have some quail, love,” her mother said, seated beside her as the feast began. Unlike the tourney, her and Jon were separated. While he sat at the center of the high table with Rhaegar and Aegon, she and Rhaella were seated further down. “It’s very good.”

Dany picked at a piece of it, scanning the room. Once again, a great deal of looks were being sent Jon’s way, as if nobody quite knew what to make of him. Like he was a duck in a crown instead of a normal boy like Aegon.

“Why do they keep staring at Jon?”

Her mother hesitated. It was enough for Dany to understand that her next words, however well meant, would be half-truth at best.

“They’ve never seen him before,” Rhaella said. “He’s second in line, Daenerys, so it’s very important to get to know him. That’s all.”

“It isn’t.” Dany tried a bite of quail and chewed slowly. “They’d never seen me before and they didn’t stare like that.”

Before Rhaella could argue, Dany pointed out an old bald lord across the room. She jabbed her fork in his direction. “That one looks like he wants to kick him.”

“ _ Daenerys. _ ” Her mother took her by the arm and turned Dany to face her. “We’ll discuss this later, but try not to raise your voice so much. You’ll offend—it isn’t polite to do so.”

_ For a girl _ .

That’s what Rhaenys would say if she wasn’t on the opposite side of the table with her mother and Lyanna. This time, Dany didn’t disagree. She’d seen enough of King’s Landing to understand it wasn’t Dragonstone. That here, being a boy meant lots more than being a girl. While Rhaenys yearned to spend all day in the training yard, it was Aegon who was pushed toward that path as his sister was kept more and more from it.

It suited Jon well enough in that aspect, but the looks made her feel funny. Down the table, Jon was growing more and more clammed up and surly as the dancing and merriment began. Gifts were presented to the boys as the feast went on, wine and ale were passed around, and more and more lords and ladies were upon their feet. Finally, Rhaegar rose and asked her to dance.

For a few minutes, that was a wonderful distraction. She loved to dance with her brother, to place her tiny feet on his and laugh as he twirled them about the room. He did the same tonight. Dany beamed and giggled as he made exaggerated steps with her on his toes. Across the hall, a lively tune had started up that seemed to be a favorite.

_ “A bear there was, a bear, a bear, all black and brown and covered in hair…” _

They spun round and round, through the other pairs, and around the edges of the dance floor toward the tables opposite theirs. It was then Dany heard the words she’d watched being whispered all day.

“—to celebrate him alongside our prince, as if he’s a trueborn like the rest—”

“Bastards hidden or bastards aware, they’re all the same mold. His love of the boy will doom our little prince. No mistaking that.”

Dany stopped dancing, jerking away from Rhaegar’s feet and hands and winding up on her butt when she couldn't stop the spin in time. The people around them stopped, gasping in horror when they spotted her on the ground. She might have been more delicate than a butterfly’s wings. Rhaegar was quick to help her up, shushing her as if she were crying, but Dany’s eyes were fixed on the tables beside them. 

The old bald man from the tourney was seated there, but it was Lord Tyrell at his side. Both were watching her in concern, but those looks changed swiftly to alarm when she glared at them.

“You’re just fine, Dany—”

She cut Rhaegar off even as he hoisted her into his arms.“They called Jon bad names!” 

“Daenerys—”

But Rhaenys’s voice across the hall overpowered both of them.

“You don’t call my brother that!”

There was a great splash and a scream. People all around the hall had stopped dancing and feasting. By the time Dany was in a position to see the other side of the room, Elia was apologizing profusely and Rhaella was dragging Rhaenys from the hall. Jon and Aegon were nowhere to be found.

Rhaegar hurried over, Dany in his arms. She was set down as soon as they were in sight of the damage. Rhaenys had dumped an entire pitcher of ale on Lady Arryn. Dany watched her sputter and try to wipe the ale from her face.

“Lady Arryn, I am so sorry.”

The woman simply stared at them, too shocked it seemed to do much else. Lord Arryn arrived then and escorted his wife out, nodding his acceptance at Elia and Rhaegar’s apologies. It was then that Dany realized Lyanna was missing, too. While Rhaegar and Elia spoke in muted whispers, Dany slipped from the hall to find everyone else.

She didn’t know what had been said, but she had a good idea it was the same nonsense boiling her blood. The corridors all around the feast hall were deserted except for herself and Ser Barristan. Across the dark castle and up to the royal wing, she met nobody besides guards and Balerion. He was desperate for affection, meowing and purring and tripping her up until she finally hoisted him into her arms.

“I suppose you aren’t like a hunting dog that can go find where they are, huh?”

Balerion only nudged her chin with his head and purred.

Once Dany turned the corner to their corridor of bedchambers, however, there was no need to guess where the rest of her family had gone. Rhaenys’s furious voice was like a drum against her ear.

“NO! They don’t get to say that EVER!”

Further down, a light was visible from under Jon’s door. Dany gazed at its warmth, glanced at Rhaenys’s door, and tried to go past it, but her mother seemed to sense her. Rhaella stepped into the hall from Rhaenys’s room, red-faced and furious. Balerion took his chance, leaping out of her arms and darting through Rhaella’s legs to find Rhaenys. Her mother spotted Dany at once.

“You ought to still be at the feast,” Rhaella said, and while a bite lingered in her voice Dany could see her mother’s anger beginning to thaw.

“Everyone else left.”

“I guarantee there’s dozens more people at the feast still compared to the few who left.” 

“But not my  _ favorite _ people.” That earned her a smile, and Dany went to her mother and hugged her skirts. “They were being mean about Jon.”

Her mother considered her carefully. “Yes, love, they were.”

The honesty surprised Dany as she was led to her room and sat down beside her fireplace. Rhaella had never seemed to lie to her that Dany had ever noticed. Not until they’d come to King’s Landing and left Jon behind, then secrets and half-truths had sprouted like an overexcited forest around them. Rhaella stoked the fire, then took a seat beside her.

“Whatever was said, you understand that Rhaenys’s actions were wrong.”

Dany shrugged. She hadn’t heard what Rhaenys had heard nor had she seen what her niece had done.

“Daenerys, this is very important. A lesson in decorum—”

“What’s decorating got to do with calling Jon a bastard?” Dany crossed her arms and glowered at her mother. “I didn’t see what Rhae did anyway.”

“Perhaps not, but you understand well enough, Daenerys, I know you do.”

Dany met her eyes and nodded. “What did Lady Arryn say?”

“Nothing kind.” Her mother sighed. “And who did you hear call Jon such a thing?”

“Some old bald lord, the one who was talking with Lord Tyrell. They were  _ both  _ being rude.”

Her mother removed Dany’s tiara and picked up a hairbrush from the table. As her long silvery hair was unbraided and brushed until it shined, Rhaella did her best to explain. That to many in the south her brother’s second marriage to Lyanna was accepted by the king’s word, but not in truth. In their hearts, a man could only take one woman to wife, and Elia had been the first. Since Jon was not from that union, many of the southron lords rejected his legitimacy as a Targaryen. A bastard in disguise, displayed in plain sight; shameful.

_ Jon’s nothing to be ashamed of, not ever. _

“He must prove himself worthy instead,” Rhaella finished, setting the brush aside. “It’s not right nor kind. Some still won’t accept his place, no matter how grown or good Jon becomes.”

“But he’s  _ not _ .”

“No, but to some people who someone truly is isn’t as important as who they think that person is. Do you understand, Dany?”

She did, although she didn’t like it. Who Jon was far outweighed anything else she could think up. Rhaella kissed her forehead as someone knocked on the door. It was Rhaegar, still in his big crown and silky day clothes, regal and splendid. He shut the door behind himself.

“We were just about to get ready for bed,” Rhaella said, picking Dany up and setting her on her feet. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yes, it has,” Rhaegar agreed. He considered each of them, exchanged a look with Rhaella that Dany didn’t understand. “Why don’t you get some rest, Mother? I’ll put Dany to bed.”

Her mother hesitated for only a moment before nodding. Dany’s cheeks were kissed and her forehead, too. 

“Sleep well, love, and don’t let your brother skimp on the storytelling,” Mother said, smiling. “He hides it, but he is very good at all the voices.”

Mother left, and Rhaegar carried her into her bedchamber. Just from the way he held her, Dany could tell his body was heavy and tired. He sat her on the bed and pulled a sleeping shift from her wardrobe. Once she was dressed and under the furs and blankets, Rhaegar took a seat beside her.

“You’re fine after your fall?”

Dany nodded. “My butt saved me.”

That got her a laugh. “I suppose it did. You’re a tough little dragon.”

Rhaegar’s frowned returned almost at once, his expression darkening. For a while, he didn’t say anything. His brooding wasn’t uncommon, but it couldn’t compete with her usual fantastic bedtime story. Dany gave him a poke in the ribs.

“Sorry, Daenerys. Tonight gave me much to think about for all of us. What story would you like?”

“Why don’t they like Jon?”

He sighed, slid down until he was laying beside her. “It’s far more complicated than simply liking or disliking, Dany. Few even spoke a word to him.”

“But they  _ don’t _ like him and that’s not fair. None of them even know Jon yet.”

“Yes, but dumping ale on someone’s head is unacceptable, fair or not. Funny,” he admitted, his lips twitching, “but Rhaenys’s response was wrong nevertheless. Jon will have to earn their respect, and we can help him to do so. Our love and acceptance of him, including him in our lives, will be of great importance going forward. Greater than I’d realized.”

He didn’t speak again for a while, but when he did a peculiar look was in his dark eyes.

“You understand that this—their views of Jon—will follow him?” Rhaegar had never seemed more serious than in that moment. “All his days, that scorn will follow his footsteps, Dany, and those in his life as well. All of us to some degree, but his wife and children especially.”

She didn’t quite understand what he was getting at, but it didn’t matter. Jon was Jon and that would always be the best and enough.

“We’ll make them understand he’s good,” Dany decided. “Me and Jon and Rhaenie and Egg and the dragons and everyone. They’ll see they’re being stupid.”

He stroked her hair and nodded. And that was all. No story, no further questions, just a kiss goodnight and then Dany was alone. She sat in the silence, watched the clouds drifting across the stars outside her window, then got out of bed.

When she entered Rhaenys’s chambers, she found her curled up on the sofa with Balerion, still angry and tearful.

“Father says I have to apologize to her,” Rhaenys muttered when Dany took a seat on the floor beside her. “After she said celebrating the bastard alongside Aegon was a slap to the gods.”

“Jon isn’t.”

“Course he isn’t.” Rhaenys rubbed her eyes, then smiled a bit as Balerion tried to lick away her tears. “Even if he was, my cousins are bastards, down in Dorne, and they’re all great. Like having a bunch of big sisters. Nobody cares much about bastards down there.”

“It seems silly,” Dany said. “Especially since Jon’s mother  _ is _ married to Rhaegar.”

Rhaenys snorted. “It’ll be more than that to all of those idiots. If they decide they don’t like Aegon, they’ll turn to Jon, however they view his birth. That’s what they do in court. Whoever they like best or gives them the most is who they fight to get on the throne.”

Dany couldn’t picture that, nor a future where Jon and Aegon would be pitted against one another. It was all so silly really. If they just followed Dorne’s rules—or even their own—Jon was the last of her brother’s children. He wouldn’t be king for a long, long time. Her wearing a crown was just as unlikely.

“Aegon’s gonna be king next,” Dany told her. “Jon wouldn’t want to be one anyway.”

Rhaenys didn’t quite seem to believe her, but she didn’t say anything else. Dany said her goodnights and slipped back into the corridor, bumping into Ser Barristan’s legs.

“Best get back to bed, Princess.”

Her sweet old knight nudged her back to her door, and although she wished to go to Jon’s rooms next, she let him lead her away. She’d let him settle into his room, then go see Jon. Everyone already knew she’d be there in the morning anyway. But to her surprise, Jon was waiting for her. He’d taken one of the big furs and wrapped himself up in it on her bed.

“Mama said to stay in my bed, but I didn’t wanna.” He buried himself under the blankets and curled up on his side, watching her. “Is Rhaenys in lots of trouble?”

“Not really.” 

Dany climbed up into the bed and threw herself over him in a hug that made him smile and laugh. Within a few minutes, they were wrestling and tickling and giggling like they had on Dragonstone. Nothing was any different. Dany loved that the most with Jon. They were always the same when it was only them, even when all the world around them was something new or bad or good. Finally, Dany got him pinned with a smart tickle to his sides. That spot always gave her victory.

“You win, you  _ win! _ ”

He shoved her off him, smiling and breathless from laughing so much. But within moments that newly toothy smile faded.

“You aren’t a bastard,” Dany told him. “Whatever those stupidheads say.”

“I must be, or Mama would have gotten so mad and cried.” Jon sat up, frowning as he plucked one of the furs. “I’m always making her sad anymore.”

Dany looped her arm around his elbow and tugged him back into the pillows.

“That’s not so,” she said. “It’s what everyone else is saying and thinking about you that makes her upset, not  _ you _ . She loves you, so she’s mad they’re being stupid.”

He seemed to consider that as a possibility. “Like when Viserys always called you names?”

Dany scowled. She didn't miss her other brother at all. Not how he’d been the last few years at any rate.

“Yes, and then you hit him with your sword and he has to say sorry.”

“People shouldn’t say mean things. They should all be nice and happy together instead of making things bad on purpose.”

It was something Dany had considered a lot since arriving in King’s Landing. She’d seen glimpses of it down in the streets when they were allowed out of the Red Keep to visit elsewhere in the city. And she heard plenty of the awfulness of people when Rhaegar and Lord Arryn talked over supper. But she’d not really seen it much, not in any significant way until tonight. Just words had hurt so many and caused an uproar—she couldn’t imagine what actions might do if done with the same intentions.

“Rhaegar will make them see it’s bad,” Dany decided, and that was easy to believe of her favorite brother. “And in two days, we get to watch a  _ melee! _ With swords and shields and all your favorites for your nameday. That’ll be fun.”

Jon nodded, his eyes a bit brighter in the firelight. “Do you think Father would let me play if I asked?”

“You’re too little still.”

“Not as little as you.”

Dany hugged him close and shut her eyes. “I won't be littler than you forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last of our tiny Targs ends here :(
> 
> Now they're just going to be small Targs for a bit. Then a bit older and on and on as life goes. Next up is Elia, hopefully next Tuesday (especially if its this short again), but I don't trust my mouth and all these healing-nothealing shenanigans, so I won't promise next Tuesday. But I'll aim for it. With any luck we'll get 15 chapters total before November (aka NaNoWriMo, the season when I disappear to write something else for a month in an attempt to hit 50k words in 30 days cause insanity).
> 
> Until next week, ya spuds, tootles!


	14. ELIA II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost four years have passed, growing pains are afoot, and new and old worries arise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late, I'm late, to a semi-important date!
> 
> The time jump is here, and Elia's starting us off.
> 
> Enjoy!

“You’d think they’d run out of drool eventually.”

Lyanna’s dry comment was followed by a very nasally snore from Aegon. Beneath them the carriage swayed and bumped through the dawn, crackling as the wheels met the grainy Dornish sand that cascaded across the road south. They were only hours out now. Beyond their warm carriage a cool night was ending, the plentiful stars slipping beneath the horizon to welcome an orange sun. Today would be hot and dry. Elia could feel it in the way the sun wavered and was already attempting to blister the air.

Across from her and Lyanna, Jon and Aegon were sprawled out amongst the furs and cushions that filled most of the carriage. They’d gotten the boys from their tent easily enough, but sleep had been too tempting to return to once they were moving.

“The heat will dry them out soon enough,” Elia told her.

Lyanna grimaced. She was already sweating, unaccustomed to the heat, the dry air, the endless expansives of sand and golden light.

“How much further?”

“A few hours,” Elia said. “Sunspear is plenty cool enough, and the water gardens more so when we go there. I’m sure Jon will love it.”

And she could see her daughter once more. Six months gone but it felt like a lifetime to her after fourteen years together. How much had she missed? How short would she feel next to her willowy, lanky daughter? Rhaenys grew taller and bolder and more beautiful each day. Six moons might make her unrecognizable, may brown her skin further, turn the sparkle in her eyes into a mischievous, secret twinkle. She was at the edge of full womanhood. Before long, Rhaenys would be wed and gone for good.

_ And before I blink, Aegon will be out of my sights, too. _

Elia stared across the carriage at Aegon. He was not so far behind his sister, almost twelve now, lanky and awkward with his too big hands and feet, but Rhaegar’s features grew ever stronger in his face. His father's same keen intelligence rested easy in his gaze. In a few moons time, he would be journeying north for the first time in his life. Jon and Aegon had both begged and pleaded and even put together an entire presentation for the king on why it was paramount that Aegon visit the North when Jon and Lyanna finally returned there this year. She struggled to accept the idea, but once Rhaegar had given in, she had too.

“Rhaella’s last raven said she can’t get Dany to stay dry most days.” Lyanna smiled, reached over to brush Jon’s curls from his eyes. “He’s so excited to see her again.”

Elia smiled, too. “As he should be. A few months is too long at any age, but never moreso than for Jon and Daenerys.”

But it had only been a few, and that had been a wonderful thing that Elia had not expected four years ago. Despite all of Rhaegar’s intentions when they’d sailed to Dragonstone together, Jon and Lyanna had stayed in King’s Landing. Lord Stark had been informed quietly of the king’s reasoning.

Aegon had thrived from the adjustment. Gone was most of his shyness, replaced with a calculated confidence that was quiet still, but firm. He might never have Jon’s bold wit or fierce bravery, but a king lived in her son. Having a brother to support him was all it had taken. She had concerns still, mostly when it came to his betrothal with Myrcella Baratheon, but so far, her worries had slowly receded.

“I still don’t think it was wise, leaving Loras at Highgarden while we visit.” Lyanna’s gaze had shifted to the pink dawn outside their carriage. “If Lord Tyrell has any brains about him—”

“He doesn’t,”Elia reminded her. “If he had he would still be our Master of Coin.”

And even with that falling out, Rhaenys’s betrothal to Lord Willas had soothed whatever ill might have remained. Lord Tyrell was simple, pompous. All the prickly nature of Olenna had skipped right past him, but even their Queen of Thorns had not seemed opposed to the betrothal, nor the reason her son had been removed from the Small Council.

“Yes, a blithering cock with not more than a mouth,” Lyanna said, and Elia smiled at their shared train of thought. “I believe that’s how Lady Olenna remarked upon his courtly gossip, wasn’t it?”

“I think she gave him eyes, too.”

Olenna had not held back in the slightest while they’d been at Highgarden a fortnight ago. As the boys left them to explore the rose gardens and the castle, to learn what they could at Lord Tyrell’s side, Elia and Lyanna had been left to visit with the women. Lady Olenna, much to their surprise, had been entirely pleasant, so long as they overlooked her usual bluntness.

Lyanna smiled, too. “A shame he’s not worthy of ears and something to go between them. Much as I’m grateful for Rhaegar’s decision, I  _ do _ prefer Lord Tyrell to Baelish.”

That much they could agree upon. After Lord Tyrell’s dismissal nearly four years ago, the King’s Hand had brought Lord Baelish in from his appointment at Gulltown. The man had an exceptional grasp of finances, it was true, but Elia liked less than nothing about him. Smarmy, belligerent, with a gleam in his eyes that swore to mischief, Lord Petyr Baelish was an asset and a curse. Rhaegar, at least, did not trust the man either.

“Lord Willas is a smart replacement,” Elia said.

_ And having him in King’s Landing means Rhaenys stays, too.  _

It was their hopeful plan once Willas and Rhaenys wed. While Highgarden was still under his father’s command, Willas could join them in the capital. He’d proven intelligent enough—far moreso than his father.

“He’s done well managing Highgarden while his father stuffs his face.”

“I expect that’s where the boys have learned it from. I’ve never seen two people eat so much in my life.”

Lyanna slid back the wooden cover on her window and fanned herself against the heat. “My brothers did around their age. This time next year, they’ll likely both be taller than us.”

“Daenerys is going to  _ hate _ that.”

“Not so much as I will,” Lyanna said.

* * *

Sunspear rose up from the blinding sand and the dusty air just as the boys were waking. Elia gazed out of the carriage at her oldest home, the great curve of the Sandship, the bright gleam of Spear Tower and the squatter Tower of the Sun. It seemed to rise right from the very sands itself until they were through the gates and hidden in the coolness of its looming shadow.

Her nieces and Doran were there to greet them. Every word was pleasant, Lyanna’s hesitant smile relaxing into a genuine one. She’d worried about their reception, but Oberyn was not visible at the moment. She glanced around, trying to deduce where he was hiding and listening. Beside her, Aegon couldn’t stop talking to Jon about everything in sight.

“And  _ that’s _ where Rhaenys lost her first tooth,” he was saying, as his sister swept out of the open entrance hall, beaming. “I remember because I fell over and she tripped over me and then hit me and I cried a  _ lot _ .”

“Only because you believed me losing a tooth meant I was dying.” Rhaenys gave both boys a passing hair ruffle, but her eyes were shining as she raced to Elia. “Mother!”

It struck Elia just how mature Rhaenys looked. She towered over Arianne already, stood tall and proud in Dornish silks, her hair braided out of her face. Her daughter was a woman now.

“You look splendid, darling,” Elia told her, and she basked in her daughter’s eager embrace. It was something she'd been missing these past few years. Blossoming womanhood had given Rhaenys’s temper a mountain of anger and very little in the ways of affection. More often than not, their interactions had devolved into yelling matches instead of hugs.

“Dorne suits me.” Her daughter offered her a secretive smile, then snorted as she turned back to her much smaller brothers. “Look at you little ants.”

Aegon simply measured himself against her, knocking her right in the teeth with his hand to show her where his head was on her. “Give it another year,  _ I’ve _ still got lots of growing to do.”

Jon just scowled. Measuring himself against her height would only make him look even smaller. Aegon had quite a bit on him, too. If Jon had also inherited his father’s height, it hadn’t appeared yet. He poked his tongue out at her instead, then choked when Daenerys came skipping out to greet them. Even Elia had to do a double take.

“Dany?”

Elia could only imagine the sheer panic that must have gripped Rhaella whenever she’d happened upon what was left of Daenerys’s hair. Gone was the lengthy tumble of beautiful silver-gold locks, just a short cropping remained now, barely reaching her chin. Dany beamed and threw herself into Jon’s surprised arms.

“Your hair is longer than mine now,” she said, laughing as she always had, but it fell in a hush as she stepped back and found herself eye level with him. “You got  _ shorter! _ ”

This time, Jon couldn’t not argue. “I did not,” he told her with a glare. “You just grew more than—” He raised himself up on his toes. “You’re the shortest.”

But she wasn’t anymore, not entirely. It was a slight difference, but just noticeable if Elia stopped to examine them side by side. Lyanna placed a calming hand on her son’s shoulder.

“You’re all perfect, short or tall or in between,” she told him, and when that didn’t satisfy Jon’s scowl, Lyanna added, “And girls tend to grow faster at your age. Give it a few years, and you’ll be taller than me.”

Dany’s smile plummeted. “Am I going to be the shortest again?”

Aegon and Jon were kind enough not to answer, but Rhaenys’s bluntness made up for it.

“Yes, absolutely. You might as well be a rat next to mountains.”

“I’m a dragon,” Dany said hotly.

Rhaella appeared then, looking entirely harassed as she joined them. She glanced at Daenerys’s hair in misery.

“Girls, if you’re arguing again—”

“Only telling truths, Grandmother.” Rhaenys gave her a swift smile that made Daenerys smack her arm. “You hit like a fly.”

“Rhaenys.” And Rhaella gave her a soft slap to the back of her head. It was a new gesture, although it didn’t entirely surprise Elia. A fond, if exasperated, tap. Her daughter was taller than all of them now, and twice as headstrong. “Boys, I’ll take you to your rooms, and Lyanna, too?”

Doran nodded, his hand tight and trembling on his cane. That was different, too. Her older brother was not an old man by any means, though he was much older than herself and Oberyn. Something about him seemed weaker, almost sick or overly tired. Elia watched the boys and Lyanna follow Rhaella into the castle before she hooked an arm through Doran’s. Rhaenys and Daenerys were quick to follow the rest into the castle.

“How are you truly?”

He waved her concerns off. “Just a twist of the ankle, Elia, that’s all.” Doran leaned over and kissed her cheek. “And how has your duty been?”

It was an unnecessary way to refer to Rhaegar’s double marriage and Jon, in particular.

“I’ve told you, it’s fine. Lyanna is not unreasonable, nor vindictive by any means. And Jon—”

“Should have stayed in the North.”

She rolled her eyes as Oberyn stepped out from around the corner of the entrance.

“Must you always be so dramatic?”

He shrugged. “Only so long as you ignore the obvious intentions of those determined to bring harm to you and yours. The boy has no business here, Elia. Not with what he might do.”

“ _ Might _ . And so long as he and Aegon continue to be as they are now, Jon is as welcome in Sunspear as he is in Winterfell.” Elia gave her younger brother a hard look. “You understand me, do you not, Oberyn?”

His dark eyes held hers, calculating, deciding whether or not this was the moment to strike. Today, he didn’t.

“Yes, sister,” and then Elia was in his embrace, smelling of heat and musk and home. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you, little brother,” Elia said, kissing his cheek. “But you will not harm him. I trust Jon and Lyanna, and whether you believe it or not, it is a peaceful relationship now. If you raise your hand—”

“You’ll lift yours against me.” Oberyn gave her a crooked sort of smile. “Or send Rhaenys after me, I imagine. She nearly bested Obara yesterday. A shame she can’t convince Aegon to learn from her.”

“He learns well enough with Jon and Ser Arthur.”

That seemed to both please and dishearten Oberyn, and Elia already knew there would be no convincing Oberyn by her words alone. Even Aegon and Rhaenys’s obvious fondness of Jon during their annual visits to Sunspear had not stopped the scowl from slipping through Oberyn’s mask of calm. Only Jon could prove himself trustworthy to her younger brother.

_ I only hope it does not cost us too much to reach that point. _

* * *

Within hours, all the children could speak of was visiting the Water Gardens. While Lyanna seemed leery of another new place, Elia and Rhaella’s glowing endorsement was enough to convince her by the time they’d put Jon, Aegon, and Daenerys to bed.

“It’s truly lovely,” Rhaella said. They’d gathered for the evening on one of the open balconies, sipping wine under the starlight. “Dany has never had so much fun, had so many children to play with. From all different lives, experiences. It’s been quite good for her.”

“It seems less safe,” Lyanna ventured, but Elia shook her head to silence that worry.

“Ser Arthur can stay beside him the whole time, if commanded. Only the kingsguard are permitted to carry weapons inside. Jon will be perfectly safe. Aegon and Rhaenys have been plenty of times.”

And that was true enough, though Aegon had grown quite embarrassed and shy when it came to splashing about in the nude on their last visit. Rhaenys was too old now, a woman in all but name. Jon and Daenerys might still have another few years to enjoy such innocence.

“I suppose it would be a nice nameday for them.”

Rhaella sighed just hearing the word. “I can’t believe they’re almost grown. Some days I let myself forget that Daenerys is ten now. Until she utters words like ‘loquacious’ and I swear I’m staring at Rhaegar twenty years ago.”

“Eleven is young still,” Lyanna argued. “They’ve plenty of years until they’re grown.”

But that denial was still too near for Elia to accept it. Only a few years ago, Rhaenys had been that age, and now she was set to marry within the year. Before her hair grayed, Aegon would be wed, too.

“Did Rhaegar want us back when you return? He never answered my last raven.”

That did surprise Elia. “Really? I saw him writing a reply before we left.”

“We’ve had no ravens since yours.”

“It happens a lot in the North,” Lyanna agreed. “Blown off course, lost in a storm, even frozen from the cold in winter.”

It was certainly possible, but something didn’t sit right about the knowledge with her. Paranoia perhaps, but she knew who had returned to King’s Landing only days after they’d left. She’d not seen Prince Viserys in almost two years. His one and only visit to King’s Landing had shown her Lord Tywin’s influence meant nothing good. Would he be so bold as to stop the king’s letter? Somehow, she couldn’t imagine so. Not over something so trivial, but she knew little than less of him. Only Lyanna’s concerns and stories gave her any real understanding of the boy Viserys Targaryen had been.

“He expects us all,” Lyanna told Rhaella. “A fortnight here, and then the journey home. Well, home before we depart for the North. He’s allowing Aegon to come with us this time.”

She saw the same trepidation on Rhaella’s face as she felt in her gut. Her son would be safe with Jon and Lyanna. That much Elia could believe. With Ser Lewyn along as well, little harm should be able to reach him. But so much was left up to opportunity, to her blind trust in the unpredictable. Aegon needed to see more of the realm, it was true, she only wished he could do so with her beside him for every moment.

_ You mustn’t coddle him. Twelve is old enough, and Rhaenys needs you here to prepare her for her wedding. _

“Jon won’t let anything happen to him,” Lyanna joked. “Just last week, he knocked Loras on his butt just for hitting Aegon on his helmet.”

Elia managed to smile. Nothing gave her peace more than seeing how genuine and deep her son’s brother loved him.

“He’ll be fine, Elia. I swear it. I’ve been training again, too, in case my sword is needed. And Ned wouldn’t dare to cross me in such a way. I can’t imagine he’d even know how to go about it. Subtly is not a strength he possesses.”

“It’s not your word I don’t trust,” Elia said.

“I know.”

“He’ll be fine,” Rhaella decided. “Who would dare to harm the crown prince in sight of so many guards and his own brother?”

For a moment, she could picture the raised eyebrows of Oberyn’s expression, arching high to his widow’s peak. As far as he was concerned, Aegon’s own brother would be the culprit. Historically, it was certainly true. She couldn’t fault his reasoning, and perhaps that future was still to come. So little could break the best of bonds and the strongest friendships. But Elia knew Jon. In some ways, she trusted his loyalty and courage far more than Lyanna’s assurances. Unless Aegon got between Jon and Daenerys, there would be no reason for them to turn on one another.

“Having Rhaegar with them would ease my fears, I suppose.”

“Then we’ll discuss it with him,” Lyanna said, and she squeezed Elia’s hand gently. “At worst, he’ll give us more guards and that’s always useful.”

“Considering all the mischief they get up to, we’d need to chain them to Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn to ever hope to curb it.”

Lyanna smiled. “Add Robb into the mix and they’re going to be absolute terrors. Be glad you’ll miss that.”

“I’ll miss him more.”

Rhaella gave her a sad smile. “A few months apart is worth the years you have to look forward to together.”

A pair of fists knocked rapidly on the door. It was flung open before any of them could so much as answer, revealing Aegon, Jon, and Daenerys. Aegon’s hair was still damp from his bath, Jon’s a tangled dripping mess. Only Daenerys had taken the time to brush hers.

“We’re going to the Water Gardens, aren’t we?” Jon gave his mother an imploring look, then turned his big dark eyes onto his grandmother. “Please, Grandmother, _ please _ . We came all this way. It’d be silly not to go see them.”

Aegon was more hesitant, his trip from the year before still clearly on his mind. Daenerys, however, had no such reservations.

“They’re perfectly lovely. Jon  _ has _ to see them, or… or I won’t ever leave Sunspear.”

Rhaella gave a huff of disbelief. “I imagine it would not take much for Ser Barristan to pick you up and put you in the carriage,” she told her daughter, who glowered at her. “But yes, we’re going to see the Water Gardens a final time before going home.”

Jon whooped in excitement and dash from the room, Dany on his heels. Aegon lingered a moment longer, frowning much like Rhaegar did when he was troubled.

Elia watched him go, his brow creased in thought. She sat up with Lyanna and Rhaella a little longer, then said her farewells when the moment presented itself. Aegon was still awake when she knocked on his door.

“Planning to read until dawn?”

He gave her an uncertain grin. “I’m only a quarter of the way through Uncle Doran’s library. Sleep can wait.”

Aegon held the door open for her to enter.

“Hmm, if you don’t sleep enough, you’re likely to stop growing. I can’t bare the thought of having to listen to your sister gloat about such a thing for the rest of our lives.”

He made a face at that, then led her into his bedchamber. A great stack of books sat next to the bed, the largest of all was open on the pillows.

“It’s about the Dothraki, this one,” Aegon explained. He got back into bed and propped it open on his lap. “All about the Mother of Mountains and their customs. Do you think I can meet the Dothraki someday?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.” Elia joined him on the bed, her side pressed to his. She kissed his temple. “Are you excited for the Water Gardens, love?”

Aegon shrugged and flipped to the next page. “I guess.”

“They aren't quite as much fun when you get older,” Elia offered, but he only shrugged again. “I’m sure Winterfell and the Wall will be much more interesting.”

He glanced up at her, eyes shining. “I can’t wait to meet Uncle Aemon. We write and write, and I think the man who writes for him must hate all of us because we send so many letters, but I know Uncle Aemon loves us.”

“Of course, he does.” She brushed his hair from his eyes, hesitating to press further. He would reach manhood soon enough, understood all the changes and intricacies of the next few years. But having the knowledge and living it were not the same. “You know there’s never any need to be embarrassed of yourself, don’t you, my sweet?”

He nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

Every syllable told Elia of how he disagreed. Of just how uncomfortable he felt already—perhaps had always felt. Jon and Loras had given him friendship with boys his own age, something he’d been sorely lacking. But their closeness had also highlighted just how very different her son was. Gentler, quiet, more keen to sit by the fire than to polish a blade. Having them by his side was great blessing, but a reminder in many ways, too.

“You’re lucky, you know, having a brother almost your exact age,” Elia said. “You and Jon will become men together. You’ll have him to talk to about whatever you’re thinking, feeling. Both of you will grow and change around the same time, too. Jon loves you dearly, no matter what.”

Aegon nodded again as he glanced up at her. “Jon likes Daenerys. Like as a man likes a woman. Doesn’t he?”

Elia almost laughed in surprise. “Has he said that? Eleven is a bit young for that.”

“No, but I see how they look at each other,” Aegon told her. “Like the world’s only got one direction to go and for him, it’s Dany.”

“They are quite fond of one another.”

“Right.” He bit his lip, hesitating, circling whatever it was he wished to ask. Elia had an idea of what he was trying to place into words, but she let him take his time. “Is it supposed to be like that? Where everyone else knows before you know?”

Elia hugged him to her side. “I wish it were so simple, but no, it’s not. Jon and Daenerys are a rare thing, moreso since they may yet end up happily wed.”

“So you haven’t noticed me not realizing I love someone like that?”

She shook her head, her thoughts drifting to Loras. Her son’s crush was obvious enough to her after so many years, but if someone outside their family took notice, it may spell his doom.

“I can’t say that I have, not like those two.”

He frowned more deeply, considering. “Rhaenys doesn’t look at Lord Willas like that.”

“No, Rhaenys has yet to look at anyone in such a way, but her marriage is likely to be more like mine and your father’s. One of duty to start, that may yet grow to some deeper fondness. For the highborn, I’m afraid love matches are rare.”

“Will it be like that for Myrcella and I?”

“Perhaps. Time will give answers to that.”

“Is Loras betrothed like I am?”

And that was the real heart he was carving into, just a hint of whatever was going on behind his dark eyes.

“No, as a third son, it’s not as necessary for him to wed. He’s more likely to become a knight or a maester or—”

“Could he be one of the kingsguard?” Aegon’s whole face lit up. “Then he could stay with me forever!”

Elia swallowed the lump in her throat. “He might yet. One day, he could protect you or your wife or one of your sons. How does that sound?”

She didn’t want to crush him, but grounding him with such reminders was necessary. Wherever his heart and lusts someday ended up, his duty would be to Myrcella Baratheon. Teaching him not to stray was essential.

“I… I guess he could do that, too.” Aegon scowled and shut his book with a dull thump. “Or go be a knight somewhere else since I’m to have a— _ must _ I marry her, Mother?”

It came out in a rush, his voice cracking, his eyes watery. He climbed from the bed at once, angry and upset and so very much like his brother and sister for once. 

“It’s not  _ fair _ . A king should get to choose his own… his own  _ person _ . Not have it decided for him by customs or someone else. Why can’t I just wait until then, and pick someone instead?”

“That's not how the world is,” Elia said, though her chest seemed to splinter like wood under an axe. “Your father had no choice either.”

“But he’s  _ king _ .”

“He was not when he wed me,” Elia reminded him. “In those days, he was crown prince just as you are now. For a time, he was actually betrothed to Myrcella’s mother.”

That seemed to cut Aegon’s temper off at the knees. He made a face of disgust. “To Lady Cersei? But she’s so… so…”

“She was not always as she is now. Just as you are no longer a little boy.” Elia offered her arms to him, and Aegon stepped into her embrace without hesitation. “You are my darling boy, Aegon, but I cannot hide you nor your life from the world. Many things will not be fair. Many things will be unbearable and difficult. That is life’s way. So many children your age already know the very worst that exists in our world. But there is always hope for love and happiness.”

“Jon gets to marry Dany and be happy,” Aegon muttered against her shoulder.

“He might,” Elia admitted, but Rhaegar had not spoken much on that potential betrothal in several years. Marrying Jon to another Targaryen would help his image, it was true, but it may also reflect poorly on Aegon, highlighting their differences, her son’s greatest potential weakness. That was the last thing she wanted for him. “You will find happiness, too. Sometimes, it just takes a bit longer. That’s all.”

“Why does he get that and I don’t?”

“He  _ might _ ,” Elia stressed. “Just as you might. I imagine Jon will spend many days asking why you get a king’s crown and he doesn’t. Rhaenys likely wonders at the unfairness of her being passed over as the eldest simply for being female. We do not choose the life we are born into, Aegon. Only what we can and will do with the time and opportunities we are given.”

That seemed to be enough, something for him to ponder further instead of the obvious aggrievements he’d been chewing on. It made her stomach churn, thinking she’d perhaps been wrong for so many years. Worrying that Jon would be jealous of Aegon, and yet what might happen to both if the opposite proved true instead?

“Father says it’s important for everyone to be happy, to have what they need,” Aegon said, considering her words. “But for a king, life is more than his own happiness. It’s everyone else’s first.”

“There is truth in that, yes.”

Aegon nodded and climbed back into bed. “I want Jon to be happy. And Dany, too. And even Rhaenys, although I think she’s more likely to stab Willas than love him. But I… is it wrong to want that for me, too?”

“No, love, of course not. And if you want it, you will find a way to create it within your life.”

“I don’t want my personal life to…”

Her heart skipped, already knowing where that sentence ended, but Elia pressed him to say it regardless. “To what?”

Aegon bit his lip, took a few moments to arrange his blankets. “I don’t want it to be like Father’s.”

“Then it won’t,” Elia said. She kissed his brow and tried to smile. “You will be a good king, wise, benevolent, and fair. Your father is those things, too, but that does not mean you will share everything with him, okay?”

They said their goodnights, but his fears followed Elia out into the corridor. It was simple enough not to wed two women as Rhaegar had done, but would it be so simple if Aegon’s interests lay with men instead? Would a secret lover not be just the same? There was no true reason for Aegon to be jealous of Jon—not with his legitimacy questioned, the whispers that still lingered just out of his earshot, the constant curiosities toward his existence—and yet, there was every reason, too.

Would his brother’s potential happiness not grow the resentment she’d always dreaded?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first, apologies for the delay. I think my mouth is finally healed though, so that's good news??
> 
> Anyway, for those who have not been with me for previous years, November is my... off month? Well, not exactly, but I won't be posting anything on here. It's NaNoWriMo! (National Novel Writing Month) So I will be trying to write 50,000 words for something new next month, and it's a daunting task. Hence the no updates until sometime in early to mid-December. I think it may be for the best this year after the last two months with my mouth and the general stress of trying and failing to keep up with this. A break is needed, haha. 
> 
> So I won't be writing this, buuut I will be working on some new Jonerys fic for NaNoWriMo. I'm debating between either my Avatar TLA crossover, a Witcher AU, ooor a sort of Hades/Persephone based idea that's all meshed together with ASOIAF. So, no PQ for November, but you'll get that and probably something new, too? (If I am successful cause 50k words in 30 days... sheesh...and then it'll need editing and all of that mess... why do I do this to myself)
> 
> So stay safe, wear a damn mask ffs, wish me luck of completing NaNoWriMo three years in a row, and I will see you cool cats in December!
> 
> And if you miss me terribly, you can always scream at me on tumblr lmao
> 
> Cheers!


	15. AEGON I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been like 40 yeaaaaaaaaars, but happy holidays, I have returned!
> 
> Uh, so explanation time. One, NaNo went well. I did the thing and wrote 50k in a month like a lunatic. That was good, chill, grandiose time lalala. Unfortunately, my family are idiots who went and insisted on having a maskless Thanksgiving and my mom's whole household ended up with COVID. So the family that lives with me (aka my elderly old grandmother) had to get tested, and deal with all that worry and then the general worry for those who were sick with COVID for two weeks, etc. etc. The family is all better now, and finally (albeit too late) taking shit seriously like I've been yelling at them about for months. And my little old grandma tested negative so we were spared that mess. -is very tired from anxiety and stress and pandemic life-
> 
> So, here's a long-awaited update, wear ya masks and stay home for these here holidays, and enjoy some adolescent angst from our little prince Aegon!

He’d never seen King’s Landing from the north. 

Aegon stared back at his home, twisted in his saddle as his horse trotted up the King’s Road alongside his brother’s. Their stallions were brothers just as they were, twin foals born of the same old mare that lived in the Red Keep’s stables. Maester Pycelle called it a rare gift and a sign from the gods of good fortune for the little princes. Though Aegon loathed being called little anymore. He was twelve now, near a man grown, whatever Rhaenys might say of it, and Jon only a year behind him.

“We’ll see it again before you know it, for Rhaenys’s wedding.” Jon made a face that was riddled with both amusement and dread. He gave his horse a gentle kick to nudge him forward, trying to keep pace with Aegon. “And we both get to see the road to Winterfell, that’s near the whole realm. Last time, we sailed and sailed and  _ sailed _ . It was awful.”

“I expect the road will be more interesting,” Aegon said, and finally, he turned his back to the Red Keep’s great towers in the far-distance. They might have been autumn trees on a mountain’s peak; they were so small now. “Lots of castles lie along the way. We’ll get to visit so many lords.”

Jon didn’t frown, but his face hardened just a bit. “I’d rather camp under the stars.”

Aegon had an idea of what that was about, how could he not after four years beside his brother in King’s Landing? Near every lord and lady eyed Jon as if someone was presenting them with a soup bowl full of vomit. Aegon hated the looks more than the false words they offered. Jon was a wonderful brother and prince. How so many people couldn’t see that, or refused to even try, was beyond him. 

_ It shouldn’t matter. Dorne doesn’t care about such nonsense, and it makes no difference to who he can be on his own _ .

And one day, if Father hadn’t already, Aegon would ban them all from ever talking about or treating Jon or anyone else they wanted to call a bastard different than they did himself. Especially when it was Viserys. Aegon stared toward the front of their column of guards and wagons, spotting their uncle’s silver-gold hair and his towering crown like a beacon in the black and brown crowd. Like Jon and Aegon, Viserys wore a circlet to signify his position, but it was the most gaudy, extravagant thing that Aegon had ever seen. Great dragon wings rose from the sides in red steel, and three roaring dragon heads blew their fire toward the sky near two feet along Viserys’s head.

Where he’d gotten it from was anyone’s guess, but Aegon despised every inch of it. Father was king and his crown should be the most noticeable, but Father was humble, too. Viserys’s circlet looked as if the blacksmith had been told to make a great helm and a crown at the same time.

He’d returned from Casterly Rock while they’d been in Dorne for their name days a moon past. Viserys had changed from the fleeting memory Aegon had of him. Much like Father, he was thin and graceful, but a look of disdain lingered around his face. His nose and upper lip moved like he was constantly smelling something foul upon the air. Everytime he opened his mouth, Aegon wanted to hit him around his ears. Jon avoided him. Aegon did his best to do the same, but Viserys’s new companion made that difficult.

“Odd place for our two princes to linger,” Tyrion Lannister’s voice called out, and in seconds he was on Jon’s other side, seated in his strange saddle so that he could ride a horse like all the rest. He’d come with Viserys from Casterly Rock, and so far, Aegon wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. “Why not ride up front with Prince Viserys and Her Grace?”

Jon scowled. Aegon did his best to hide his own. Lyanna was wonderful, but Viserys was too much of a nightmare even a week into their reunion. He’d rather his uncle go back to Casterly Rock for good, or maybe Essos so he’d be even further away.

Tyrion gave them both a wicked grin as Viserys’s voice carried back to them on the wind, “They ought to be up here, at  _ my _ side, to learn a man’s place in—”

Jon rolled his eyes, then fixed Tyrion with a sharp look. “I see  _ your _ father did little to improve him.”

For a moment, Tyrion only grinned at them. An almost cruel edge was in that smile, but the glint of humor and intelligence in his mismatched eyes told Aegon quite clearly Tyrion saw Viserys for all he was, too. His acute understanding of people was his one redeeming quality thus far.

“My lord Father is hardly a man to improve upon a prince’s perfection,” Tyrion said, his voice heavy with mockery. “How could he when he was sent such admirable—”

“I demand they ride up here with me! This insolence will not stand!”

Aegon ducked his head and shifted his horse behind Ser Lewyn’s larger frame. Beside him, Jon did nothing to hide. Tyrion, however, had winced at the shrill sound of their uncle’s voice.

“He could have at least knocked him on his ass in the training yard,” Jon muttered. “Or just knocked him over the head like Mother’s about to do to him.”

Aegon grimaced as the column began to slow, his uncle’s petulance thick in the air as Lyanna’s calmer voice tried to end the tantrum. Men grumbled at the slowing, their horses protesting the change in pace. Wagons creaked to a stop, horses whinnied in disagreement as they were pulled to the side. A few knights knocked right into each other as Viserys brought the whole group to a halt. Jon glanced at Tyrion, and then Aegon before shrugging.

“You own me one, Egg,” Jon said. “Maybe I’ll get to knock him off his horse.”

Jon kicked his own horse forward to join Lyanna and Viserys. Ser Arthur was quick to follow, his expression grim.

Aegon was left alone in the middle, thankful for his brother’s decision, then less than pleased to be stuck with Tyrion Lannister. Loras was somewhere in the column as well, but he’d not seen him since Loras had begun talking with one of the knights over an hour ago. After a few minutes, his uncle’s complaints subsided and the column began to move once more.

“Your uncle must have an urgent need to speak with you,” Tyrion said.

Aegon just managed to not roll his eyes. “Viserys speaks regardless of who is listening.”

Tyrion kissed his teeth and nodded to the northwest. “Not that uncle.”

Uncle Oberyn was watching him from the edge of the group. When Aegon met his eyes, Oberyn gave him a nod and slowed his horse to meet them. With his mother’s brother, Aegon knew there was no avoiding him. She’d not wanted him along on this journey, or even for their return to King’s Landing. Oberyn, however, had insisted. At first, Aegon had been thrilled, and Rhaenys had been, too. His Dornish uncles were great and cared for him deeply, showing both him and Rhaenys all there was to see and understand of the world their mother had left behind for King’s Landing.

But the road from Sunspear to King’s Landing had made his uncle’s reasons for the journey quite clear. Jon had never been so out of sight and distant as he’d been on their ship north.

Aegon had an inkling of why, and not solely because of Elia’s parting warning.

_ “Watch him as if you’re a dragon on high, love. Especially when he strays near Jon.” _

And he was as best he could. Oberyn tried to keep them apart, insisted Aegon ride alongside him instead of Jon or Loras. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been watched this time, but his uncle’s sharp eyes were always like knives.

Tyrion disappeared into the crowd as Aegon made his way to Oberyn’s side. Ser Lewyn followed, keeping a safe distance behind him. His sworn shield was his protector, but he gave Oberyn a great deal of respect and leeway.

Oberyn did not speak at once. He kept his head forward, though his eyes drifted over to Aegon every few minutes. Finally, he turned to Aegon. Though his eyes were the same warm shade of brown as his mother’s and Rhaenys, since their departure from Sunspear, they’d had an uncharacteristic chill to them.

“We should have left him in King’s Landing.” Oberyn nodded toward the front. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall, and the great North, but with him along we’ll arrive two springs from now.”

That was clue enough he was referencing Viserys instead of Jon, but the hint was there, too. It always seemed to be with Oberyn. His uncle had never directly mentioned Jon to him in all his years of visits to Sunspear. Until Aegon had seen them both in the same room a month ago, he’d never noticed it. But Oberyn Martell despised Jon, far more than the lords and ladies that came to see Father at court. This side of his uncle was new and Aegon found he liked him far less than before because of it. 

“He won’t like the road north,” Aegon said. “Jon says if we’re lucky it’ll be cold enough to freeze his mouth shut for good.”

He’d hoped his uncle might find some amusement in Jon’s jest as he had, but he was mistaken.

“So long as yours stays as it is now.” Oberyn eased a hand over and took Aegon’s reins, guiding them along at whatever pace he desired. “Aegon, your mother… Elia is my beloved sister, the very best friend of my life. But women can be foolish, trust unwisely with their motherly hearts. A youthful face is not a guarantee of innocence.”

Aegon’s stomach twisted. He didn’t have to ask for an explanation. Having strangers and frilly lords and ladies come for a visit to court and dislike Jon instantaneously was expected at this point. But having his own uncle not trust Jon was another.

No amount of his or Rhaenys’s stories or love seemed to be enough.

“Jon is a good brother, _ my _ beloved brother,” Aegon told him, and he sat up a little taller in his saddle, took his reins back into his own hand. “He’s been so since I met him and he remains so now. And if—”

“If I harm him your mother will have me harmed, too,” Oberyn finished, and it seemed to be a familiar threat, though it was not the way Aegon had intended to end his sentence.

“No, although I’m sure she would.” He gave his uncle a long look. “You’ll answer to me, Uncle. And Rhaenys will make the Black Dread of old look as docile as a sleepy kitten.”

Instead of taking offense, Oberyn’s lips curled into a sharp smile.

The look made Aegon’s nerves tremble, but he’d learned enough from getting in trouble with Jon to keep himself in check.

“As you say, little prince, but I decide when I trust someone,” Oberyn said. “Not by your word or your mother’s, and that one,” he nodded toward the front of the column, “is dangerous.”

“There’s only one thing Jon wants,” Aegon told him, “and there’s no reality where doing what you think he would could give it to him.”

He kicked his horse forward, hoped to find Loras to ride with, but found Tyrion looking interested in further conversation instead. Grudgingly, Aegon made his way to the front to join his other uncle. Viserys was all arrogance and condescension when Aegon took the spot beside Jon.

“And where have you been?”

“Riding,” Aegon told him.

Jon’s whole face had turned sour, his mother’s a mirror image. None of their good moods stood a chance with Viserys along on their journey.

Viserys gave him a scornful look, but his violet eyes lingered on Aegon’s crown instead of offering a snarling retort like he would have for Jon. As heir, Aegon still seemed to garner some respect. Aegon assumed it was only because he’d be Viserys’s king someday and would answer to him like he did now with Father.

“Well, stay close,” Viserys told him. He gave the surrounding knights and guards a look of disgust. “You mix with this filth and you’ll—”

“Turn into a better person than you?”

Jon’s words were a step too far for Viserys. Their uncle wheeled around, his arm raised as if to strike Jon, but Lyanna’s hand caught his wrist in a death grip. For a moment, Aegon thought she’d broken his wrist at the pitiful sound Viserys made.

“If you touch my son, you will never be able to hide from me,” Lyanna warned him. “Leave us now. Go!”

Viserys offered a surly glare, rubbed his wrist, a bruise already blooming on his pale skin and rushed ahead, trying to look dignified, but he only looked weak-chinned to Aegon.

Lyanna watched his back for several minutes before turning to them.

“I know you both would rather eat scorpions, but try not to create conflict with him,” she said. Her eyes fell on Jon in particular. “Your temper is a dragon’s, yes, but it is yours to control, not the other way around.”

She didn’t say it, but her meaning was as clear as the one Elia had given him that morning. Viserys couldn’t be trusted, even if Father still held firm to belief in his brother. Jon had spent years with him on Dragonstone, more than enough to see that manhood and his years at Casterly Rock had not helped. 

_ If any Targaryen is a threat, it’s him. Not Jon. _

Unfortunately, nobody with any real power seemed to understand that.

They sunk back into the column, toward the middle, hunting for Loras who they found amongst a gathering of knights. Each one had his own gleaming suit of armor on, their helms shaped like raven wings and bat wings and even a great pair of horns.

Jon’s mood was still as sour as curdled milk, but Aegon hoped Loras’s presence could help. For him, it would just be a descent into clumsy awkwardness that only grew worse the longer he was near him. But Jon and Loras had proven fast friends. 

“I’m sure the food will be great, all the feasts at each castle we visit. Even if we have to sit with Viserys.” When Jon still didn’t perk up, Aegon nudged him with his elbow. “I bet we can sneak some wine to try. Like  _ really _ try.”

That earned him a grin. “I’d love to see you drunk.”

Loras joined them then. His brown hair was windswept, his cheeks a delicate, lovely pink. At once, Aegon’s stomach launched itself into his throat and then down to his groin.

“A drunk prince?” Loras asked, glancing at Aegon in amusement. “I think we’d  _ both _ enjoy that.”

“Two drunk princes,” Jon added. “Bet I can drink more than either of you before I’m a mess.”

They both laughed at that, and Aegon joined in a second later. No matter how much time passed, his tongue always seemed to get lost around Loras. As Loras and Jon whispered and plotted and talked the morning away, Aegon stayed beside them. He nodded along, agreed when asked, but everytime he met Loras’s eyes, his insides seemed like they were trying to jump out of him and into the sky.

_ It must be different, this. Jon’s never like this with Dany. _

But he’d seen enough of some of the older boys in the Red Keep, and moreso the ones his cousins flirted with in Dorne. They acted like idiots, as if their feet were tangled in their tongues if they saw so much as a nipple. He couldn’t even withstand a smile. But Loras was a boy, and surely that was wrong. It must have been, otherwise he’d have heard of boys marrying other boys before. In all his endless stacks of books, he’d never once encountered a mention of it.

“Egg? Oi, big brother.” Jon slapped him on the upper back and nearly unseated him. “Whoops.”

Loras caught him on the other side to keep Aegon upright. He was blushing and hot all over with Loras’s arm around his chest.

“T-thanks.” Aegon gave Jon a gentle shove in return. “What?”

“Well, you weren’t listening so—”

Jon felt silent at once, his eyes flickering to a point somewhere behind Aegon’s head. When he turned around, Oberyn had pulled up beside Loras, his shadow casting a gray gloom over both of them. Mother’s words came back to him again, whispered in his ear at his departure that morning.

_ “Remember, love, he is our blood, but watch him as if you were a dragon flying above.” _

And Aegon intended, too, if only because he’d seen enough of his uncle’s looks at his brother. He’d read enough history to know all the worst the realm might hope to do to Jon just because he was living. The worst they might do to him if he proved unfit to rule.

“It’s impolite to shove a prince,” Oberyn remarked, and his dark eyes lingered on Jon. “Whether you are of similar blood or not, a fall from a horse can still spell tragedy.”

Jon’s face was a mask, but Aegon could see through it just enough to know his brother’s guts were twisted up with uncertainty and a hint of fear. Oberyn was a deadly man. It was something Aegon had never witnessed, but he’d heard enough of his uncle’s physical abilities and seen his sister’s awe when he trained.

“I only wanted to get his attention from his daydreaming,” Jon said. “We wouldn’t let him fall.”

Oberyn said nothing more, but the playful mood had been ruined as his uncle trotted off into the column of wagons and men. They spent the rest of the day in hushed conversation, nervous and anxious as they glanced about to see if they were being watched by Oberyn again.

Their entire journey was the same. Aegon found himself constantly keeping an eye on his mother’s brother, on edge about how he interacted with Jon in public, and entirely embarrassed to so much as see Loras from a dozen feet away. Every castle was a relief for him. They gave him and Jon either shared quarters or their own separate chambers. Not having to share a tent where Loras also slept was a great reprieve.

Viserys was another matter, one Lyanna tried and failed to contain. Any feast where the wine and ale flowed, their uncle drank until he was an absolute fool. He yelled and grew red-faced, demanded all sorts of fealty and gifts and praise. Aegon did his best to stay away, but Viserys had taken an unusual interest in him. Wherever Viserys was, he expected Aegon to be beside him. To learn, he said, but the only thing Aegon had discovered so far was not to drink in excess and to be as humble as a lamb.

North of the Trident, the world grew colder. Jon delighted in the change, insisting on unpacking the great, thick fur cloaks his Uncle Ned had sent south as gifts for their journey. It was very warm, Aegon realized, once they’d put them on their third morning north of Greywater Watch and the swampy marsh of the land around it, but he felt a bit like he’d tried and failed to dress up like a bear. Loras looked equally as ridiculous, the fur collar too puffy and large, so that only his eyes poked over the top.

Jon, however, seemed right at home like he always did on Dragonstone. Out here, in the wilds, in the chill of the North, his brother was at peace in a way he never was in King’s Landing. His fur cloak was just as too big as either of theirs, but it suited him in a way Aegon couldn’t place.

“We’ll stay at Castle Cerwyn tonight,” Jon was telling them as they rode into the morning sun. “Then reach Winterfell tomorrow if Viserys doesn’t have another tantrum. And it might,” he paused to inhale deeply, his eyes shut and head tilted back to take in the frosty air. “It’s going to snow,” he told them, grinning. “Robb taught me how to smell it on the air.”

Aegon didn’t trust that for truth, but he let Jon have it. Without Dany around, it was usually a rare thing to see his brother so at peace and cheerful. Besides, his own eyes were too busy staring at Loras, his stomach sinking as he realized Loras was watching Jon instead of paying him any mind. The thought that Loras might not even like him as a friend, just as his prince, made him sick, and more confused than ever before.

Their party reached Castle Cerwyn just as the sun began its descent. Lady Lyanna found them in the fray, guiding them to the front with their sworn shields and a few extra guards.

“It’ll be just a few of us dining inside tonight,” Lyanna explained to them. “Lord Cerwyn’s keep is quite a small castle.”

“Can we sleep outside to see the snow?”

Lyanna shook her head at her son’s hopeful question. “No, love, we don’t want to be rude.”

Jon scowled, but Aegon was glad for it. He’d kept half his clothes on every night he shared a tent with them, while Jon and Loras paraded around mostly naked. They were both still the same as he’d been not so long ago, but his body was changing fast already. His hands and feet didn’t match his limbs, his nipples were slightly puffy though Mother and Maester Pycelle had assured him that was normal and would fade as he grew. Other things, however, were less fine. Much less fine.

Lyanna escorted them inside, just the four of them, their guards, and Uncle Oberyn. Viserys was nowhere to be found and Aegon was grateful for one less uncle that night. Oberyn stuck to his side, eyes always watchful of Jon. Loras didn’t seem to notice, but Jon made a point to linger further away from them.

They were welcomed to the castle, ate a simple dinner, and then shown to their chambers. Aegon was pleased to find he and Jon were sharing, just the two of them. Lyanna shut them inside with a quick goodnight.

“Finally,” Jon muttered. He fell back onto his bed and shut his eyes. “I kept waiting for your uncle to hang me up by my ears or something because Lord Cerwyn talked to me more than you.”

Aegon sat carefully on the edge of his bed, facing Jon. “He wouldn’t do that. Besides, I couldn’t...” His stomach twisted as he thought of how Loras had been just beside him the whole meal, their elbows knocking as they ate. “I was too hungry for conversation.”

“He wants to.” Jon sat up. His circlet fell onto his bed as he swept his curls from his face. “Whatever your mother says, he’d like to take that fancy spear and—” Jon gestured like he’d been stabbed right through the stomach.

Aegon’s own stomach sank at the sight. “Uncle Oberyn wouldn’t. He’s just… worried. That’s all.”

“About you, you mean? Or about me being what they all think I am and hurting you?”

“You aren’t like that, Jon.”

His younger brother nodded, frowned. Something in his eyes seemed to doubt Aegon’s words.

“That’s what they all want me to be, isn’t it? It’s easiest for them if I’m exactly that.”

The question made Aegon uncomfortable. So many lords and ladies simpered and smiled at Jon while Father was around, and then belittled him later. It always made Aegon squirm. He couldn’t begin to imagine what they must think of him. What they would say behind his back if they could see what was in his heart, the foulness of his feelings for Loras—for surely, if his feelings were as he thought they were, then they must be wrong. So wrong no book had ever mentioned them.

“I suppose.”

Jon undid his belt and began to undress. “And I’ve got to be the bigger person,” he grumbled. “That’s what Father’s always saying. You’d think Lord Tyrell would be good at that with his belly the size of a boulder.”

“Look on the bright side,” Aegon told him. “You’re rooming with me instead of Viserys tonight.”

Jon scowled so fiercely that Aegon half-expected his face to get stuck like that. “ _ Why _ he had to come along instead of Father…”

“Loras doesn’t like him either.”

“Does anyone?”

Aegon ducked his head and turned away as Jon undid his trousers and stripped right down to his skin. They’d seen each other before. For years and years now, and it had never been a problem. But lately, seeing anyone nude was troubling. Even seeing himself in a looking glass was embarrassing.

“What?” Jon kicked Aegon’s shoulder, laughing as he flopped back onto his bed entirely unbothered by his lack of clothing. “Am I growing a third nipple on my back or something?”

Jon sat up on his knees, twisting around to wiggle his naked butt at Aegon. This time, Aegon did look, his face hot, his temper flaring.

“Don’t be an idiot. It’s  _ indecent _ .”

Jon huffed and dropped back down, bouncing on his bed as Aegon’s face flamed hotter, his eyes following his brother’s—

“You’ve got one, too, you weasel.” But Jon was a little pink-cheeked now, too. “I guess, they’re a  _ bit _ different now that yours is… changing. But I’ve got some hair now, just like a man grown.”

“Wow, a whole two hairs, is it?” He managed to get the joke out, but his voice was high and strangled. “Just put something on, would you?”

“There’s four now!”

Aegon pulled his boots and belt off, then his outer layers until he was down to a thin tunic and his smallclothes. Jon was still naked, but under his furs and bedding now.

“What’s the matter?”

Aegon glanced over at him, still flustered. Unlike him, his brother’s nipples were still quite flat and normal. He wished his had stayed that way. For a few weeks, he’d almost thought he was about to start growing breasts like Rhaenys had.

“Nothing.”

Jon took that as well as he took anything. He grabbed one of his pillows by the corner and slung it at Aegon’s face.

“Don’t lie. You’re being odd, Egg. Even for you. Are you mad at me?”

“No!” His voice cracked and Jon grinned at that. “Nothing like that.”

“Then what?” Jon reached over and took his pillow back. He curled his arms around it and pressed it to his chest to rest his chin on the top. “You’ve been strange lately, like something happened.”

Aegon hesitated. He trusted Jon to keep his secrets, to not shame him or belittle him or treat him unkindly. They teased each other and played about sometimes, but when things were serious Jon was nearly as grown up as Father. Even Mother adored Jon, said they were just the perfect age to understand one another. But Jon had Dany and always had. His brother’s eyes were for nobody else. How could Jon possibly understand all the muddled mess in his head when he’d never had to guess?

_ And what if it is wrong to think of a boy the way I think of Loras?  _

Perhaps Jon had been told of that wrongness and would know it was sick. Would the septons declare him unfit to be a prince? He had no clue, and nobody else to ask that he could trust not to say something.

“Do you ever feel… funny?”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “Like Father’s fool, you mean?”

Aegon grimaced and rolled onto his side to stare over at his brother. “No, like  _ inside _ . Just weird and nervous and like someone’s taken a bunch of tangled up yarn and replaced your insides when you look at someone.”

“Oh.” Jon considered that. “Sometimes.” He ducked his head, his cheeks red. “Some mornings, if Dany or I sneak to the other’s room, when I wake up, its… funny. Like, down there, you know? Not always, but sometimes its definitely more than just from waking up like normal. I don’t think she’s noticed it, but she’s definitely suspicious of how weird I act when it happens.”

That was a bit more in line with his train of thought, but he couldn’t imagine the embarrassment of someone else seeing him like  _ that _ . He’d likely melt right on the spot.

“Mother says its normal.”

Jon snorted. “I think I’ll pass on it then. Dany would probably never speak to me again if she woke up first and felt it being like  _ that. _ ”

“I think she’d forgive you.” Aegon lifted himself up on his elbow, considering. “How’d you know it was her and you? For always like you both have been saying forever?”

His brother shrugged. “In our dreams, its us together when we’re grown, and it was just the two of us when we were little, and now…” Jon smiled a bit, his face pink once more. “I think when you love someone, you just sort of know, don’t you? It’s in here and here,” Jon told him, touching his chest and his head. “She makes sense for me.”

That did little to help Aegon. He liked Loras well enough, but all the funny feelings that came from being around him were nothing like the certainty Jon and Dany had always expressed. He gazed at the fire across the room, frowning, disappointed. Some things Jon could understand, but even if it were Myrcella instead of Loras, Aegon didn’t think he’d quite understand this. 

“It doesn’t matter to me, Egg,” Jon said. He cast Aegon a nervous look when he turned back to him. “Myrcella or someone else who has your heart. You’re my brother no matter what.”

That was all Jon said, but it was enough for Aegon to understand his little brother had noticed his wandering eyes and inability to act normal around Loras. Had perhaps seen Aegon looking at the naked boy at Highgarden when Garlan had dragged them into the rose gardens to see one of the stableboys and a castle maid mating in a secluded corner. They’d all stared in amazement at the naked woman, but Aegon’s eyes had been somewhere else.

He’d been too embarrassed to even look at the others the rest of the day.

“Myrcella is my betrothed.”

“I know,” Jon told him. “Dany’s not mine, but…”

“I wish I could marry someone I like the way you can.”

Jon grimaced. “If Father was going to betroth me and Dany, he would have done it already, wouldn’t he?”

Aegon hadn’t thought about that. It was growing more and more strange, even to him, that Jon and Daenerys’s betrothal had not been announced. Together, they just made sense, but Father must have had other ideas. Ones that Aegon was certain Dany and Jon wouldn’t stick to if they were pursued. Jon certainly wouldn’t marry another. And Dany might play along for a time, but Aegon couldn’t imagine her wed to anyone else if such a day arrived. She would refuse the same as Jon would.

“Do you think, um… do you think how I…”

“Do I think its weird that you like Loras?” Jon’s blunt words made him blush. He waited for Aegon to meet his eyes before continuing, and Aegon was relieved to see no judgment there. “I didn’t think it was odd because Loras is a boy, just that you liked anyone at all, if that makes sense. But it’s not that uncommon for Targaryens, is it?”

Aegon’s eyebrows rose. “But they’ve all been married to—”

“Married to and in love with aren’t the same,” Jon said. “Look at our mothers and Father. And I mean, it’s never directly mentioned in the histories of our ancestors, but seriously? Saying Daeron preferred the companionship of that knight and that he never married says a lot. Or Rhaena Targaryen and her lady companions. They don’t  _ say _ it outright, but I’m pretty sure they liked their own gender.”

“So, I’m not…” Aegon nearly choked trying to get the words out; his relief was so sharp and bright and full. “I’m not sick?”

“You’re a dragon,” Jon told him as if that settled it. “And real dragons didn’t have sex or could change it or whatever it was, couldn’t they? Humans can’t quite do that, I suppose, but we have dragon’s blood, so it’s probably from that. We’re different since we’re Targaryens, and that’s good. You’re just more dragon than the rest of us are. Father’ll like that, I’m sure.”

Warm, sweeping relief filled Aegon. He smiled so wide it hurt his cheeks and chin. Jon blew his candles out and said goodnight, but Aegon lay on his back, staring at the wooden beams overhead in the flickering firelight. Part of him was relieved at Jon’s words, but another part of himself was still terrified, too. Jon understood it, had thought of things he hadn’t, and perhaps Dany and Rhaenys and Mother and Father would agree, too.

But he was still set to wed Myrcella Baratheon. What if she hated him for not being able to like her the way another man would? What if he failed to be a husband and his failure meant she had to marry Jon instead? How much would Jon and Dany and  _ everyone _ dislike him then?

His stomach twisted into itself again. Aegon rolled over and tried to get to sleep, but it took a long, long time. He tossed and turned hours after Jon’s breathing had evened out, and when he did find himself slipping into that lucid half-asleep state, he was greeted with strange places and scenes. 

The world was white and dark gray. Wolves howled at a great distance that seemed to echo up to him through the soles of his boots. At once, he could tell he was grown. That tonight’s dream was a vision of years to come, not unlike the ones he’d had before. Aegon twisted around in the chilly dark, little plumes of fire flickering in the near and far distance as snow fell like the clouds above were tearing themselves apart in great chunks. 

“They’ll breech soon,” Jon’s deep voice said.

He found his older, taller, bearded brother behind him, gazing down with a frown that was entirely Father’s. Aegon looked to, his stomach leaping in alarm at the scene far below. If not for the fire arrows raining down on the northern side of the Wall, he would not have been able to see at all.

“I’ll lead the—”

“You’ll stay here and man the Wall,”Jon told him. “The King can lead the army from atop the Wall just as well, Egg. Besides, I know this moment all too well.”

“I’m not king,” Aegon said, and still no matter how many times he saw this moment, heard his brother’s words, he couldn’t believe it. “Father—”

“You will be soon enough.”Jon gave him a tight smile. “Besides, you owe me one, remember?”

Jon hugged him and disappeared down the carved out road of ice. Aegon heard his voice call for the cage, and then the great, heaving creak of chain and wood and iron.

He blinked and the scene below had moved. The bulk of the fire shifting further out, his voice hoarse as he yelled commands he couldn’t hear. Jon was down in the massacre, his sword a slicing point of fire in the storm, but the weight of loss was too heavy. His knees seemed ice as he stood on high and watched the death roiling across the field, the unstoppable, endless mass of bodies screaming toward the Wall’s base. He couldn’t say which castle they were fighting for today, which tunnel they were trying to protect, but he knew it was lost, as clear as the snow was caking onto his face.

“Egg,” Jon’s voice called. “Come on, you loon, get  _ up _ .”

The frozen world tipped over, the solid ice underfoot gave way, and something was shrieking so loud it could have ruptured the very earth, split stone and oak and sent rushes of lava into the sky—

“Egg, wake up!”

Someone smacked his face. Aegon blinked and twisted about, and he was back in their shared chambers at Castle Cerwyn, Jon leaning over him in the pre-dawn gloom.

“You were shouting in your sleep,” Jon said, and his knowing look gave way to concern. “I had one, too. Were you at the Wall again?”

Aegon nodded. He kicked at the furs and blankets to untangle himself. His body was drenched in sweat, a chill creeping in as the cold got down to his skin.

“The same one.” Aegon shivered and wiped his face on his sleeve. “You were there, rude as always.”

“Someone has to be,” Jon said, and he tried to grin but failed miserably. “I was down in the snow, and Dany was in the sky. The Wall looked fine, you know. Wasn’t collapsing or anything.”

“I know.”

But there was no way except by living through their days together to know if they were both right and dreaming of different days. Or if perhaps, one day was not meant to be and the other was. He never saw Dany or her dragon in his dreams, just Jon leaving to defend the tunnel far below.

“You’ll see when we visit,” Jon said and he took a seat beside Aegon, wrapped up in his big fur cloak. “It’s not scary, just tall, and the Wall is about as thick as Viserys’s skull. It takes  _ ages  _ to go below through the tunnel and out the other side. There’s no way they can bring it down.”

But Jon never heard the sound that he did, that piercing, blood-chilling shriek that felt like it could split the marrow in his very bones. Aegon had never heard anything like it waking.

“It’s that sound,” Aegon told him, his body going numb just thinking of it. “Whatever it is, it’s terrible.”

“A scream can’t do that though.” Jon’s reasonableness didn’t stop the fear. “Move over.”

Jon climbed into his bed and made him lay down again.

“Go back to sleep,” his brother said. “We’ll figure it out when the day comes. I bet Uncle Aemon will have some ideas when we see him. And if that day comes, we’ll make sure Dany and her dragon know so they can pick you up off the Wall first.”

He smiled a bit at that as Jon settled in beside him. “But what about you?”

“Rhaenys is probably running around chasing me, same as all the Others are.” Jon yawned as if he wasn’t concerned. Aegon knew that wasn’t true, but his brother had never had life without his dreams, not for very long at least. He’d grown comfortable with them, awful as they were. “She’ll keep me safe enough until Dany can.”

Aegon nodded and watched his brother drift back to sleep. His mind was buzzing from his terror still, his limbs restless. He climbed out of bed and wrapped himself in his warm fur cloak, and found his way into the joined sitting room to the narrow window in the corner. Just as Jon had predicted, it was snowing. Tiny flakes were dancing down to the ground, a pale layer already starting to cover the muddy green-brown earth riddled with a hundred horses’ hoofprints.

Aegon pressed his face to the glass to watch his first snowfall, hoping Jon was as right then as he was now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update, uhhhhh????????
> 
> It'll be Jon. That's all I'll say for now. My brain is still too exhausted from my family's tomfoolery to set a date for when that'll happen. Hopefully I'll get back into a schedule in the coming weeks. We shall see!
> 
> Oh, and the NaNo writing fic story thingamabob. I'll probably start posting that sometime soon, bit by bit. It might be 50k but its definitely not finished, and needs some major editing because 50k in 30 days lends to so many typos and weird inconsistencies and random sentences devolving into BLAHBLAHBLAHWORDSOFDIALOGUEGOHEREEDITLATER
> 
> So, Happy Holidays, kids, keep ya fucking masks on, and a Happy New Year if I don't get another chapter out by then! :)


	16. EDDARD II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR, FRIENDS!
> 
> And uh, surprise, this is a Ned chapter instead of a Jon chapter. I lied so well I had even convinced myself it was going to be a Jon one, then tried that and realized it wasn't going to work for what was needed. So Jon is next, for real this time, haha.
> 
> Enjoy!

His heart thrilled when the horns at the southern gate sounded. Months after Lyanna’s raven, and near a week past when he’d expected them, but Ned smiled a bit all the same. Six months had been too short a time after just as many years apart. Four years after near as difficult as their original parting.

Years ago, he’d expected to have Lyanna and Jon home for a decade, until Jon was a man grown and ready to manage a castle of his own. That had not happened, but his nephew seemed the better for it. Every letter to his cousins had gushed of his brother and sister. Jon’s nightmares had vanished for true in the south. He’d gotten back to his favorite person, however it worried Ned of the obvious obsession with Daenerys. But his words were happy, his life seemingly better as he explored all of King’s Landing and bonded with his siblings and father. Watching them leave had been difficult, learning they would not be back for an unknown number of years, far harder, but it had given Ned one less responsibility.

_ And one less wild boy to keep after. _

Ned reached up to pull Bran down the last few feet from another one of his absurd climbs. At four, his little son was proving more squirrel than boy.

“You aren’t to scale the castle,” Ned told him, dusting Bran’s fine clothes off. “You’ll break your neck or worse if you keep at it.”

Bran only smiled up at him, mischievous and delighted to be filthy and windswept.

“I found the books tower, Fawfer!”

Ned kissed his wild, auburn hair, and caught Arya by her ripped skirts as she tried to dart past him. Like Bran, she was covered in dirt and sweat, two dark muddy spots on the front of her gray dress marking where she’d been playing in the godswood.

_ Catching frogs and Catelyn’s wrath once again. _

His two formerly youngest were twice as wild as Robb had ever been, and an entire continent beyond sweet, obedient Sansa.

“You’ve ruined your dress, Arya.”

She only shrugged, trying to pull free of him to continue her race for the courtyard. Every day she reminded Ned more and more of his sister.

“Jon’s here!”

“Aye, he is, and your aunt and Jon’s brother, too.”

And Prince Viserys and Oberyn Martell and Lord Tywin’s son. Ned’s smile faded at that reminder. He’d expected either the King or Viserys after Lyanna’s raven, but the other two were not half as welcome. They would be accepted, given bread and salt and Winterfell’s hospitality so long as no harm befell his family, but Ned wished they’d stayed in the south. His home ought to be safe for his nephew, but with either of those men around, it would not be as last time.

Tyrion Lannister may not be focused on his nephew with harmful intentions, but Ned had little doubt that Oberyn Martell was.

He led Bran and Arya to the yard to find Catelyn and Robb already organizing their household to greet the approaching party. His oldest had taken to acting the lord of late as Cat called it. Everywhere Robb went, he did his best to stand tall and strong and mirror whatever he’d seen from Ned. Theon Greyjoy was among the crowd, too, slightly surly at being cast to the row behind the Starks. His young ward was a man grown now, but no less a hostage.

“There you are,” Cat said, catching sight of them. Then she saw Arya’s dress and Bran’s dirty face and hands. “Ned—”

“There’s nothing to do for it now.” He set Bran down beside Arya and dusted his own cloak and surcoat off. “Prince Viserys may scoff, but Lyanna and Jon won’t care. Most know how young children can be, and these two…”

“A wolf and squirrel,” Cat muttered. “Gods be good, you're both a sight. Stay beside your sister, Arya, and just next to her Bran.”

She shuffled them into place, keeping a hold of Arya’s hand in case she tried to bolt at her first sight of Jon. His youngest daughter had talked of little else since the first raven discussing the visit had arrived almost a year ago. Everything was Jon this and Jon that and how on earth she could recall anything of her cousin from four years ago was beyond Ned’s understanding. The endless letters were more familiar to her than Jon’s face. And familiar to Ned, too--he’d had to write all of Arya’s replies, then laughed when Jon had realized she couldn’t read yet and had opened a scroll to find a story for her made entirely of drawings by the Targaryen children.

He took his place between Robb and Catelyn, the gates already open and the sound of dozens of horses and wagons almost upon them. To Lyanna’s loud dismay, Jon burst into sight first, charging ahead on his stallion, laughing and bright and twice the size he’d been on his last visit. Ned watched him slow his horse, his nephew’s breath misting over his face, but he was every bit his mother’s son. His dark curls were longer, his face thinner, and his eyes bright with mischief.

Ser Arthur appeared a second later, grim and bearded and clearly annoyed with his young charge. Next was Lyanna, her hand clasped on the reins of the other young prince’s stallion. Aegon was a bright contrast to Jon. Tall and fair, his eyes a clear violet to Jon’s dark gray, his face nervous and chastened as Lyanna escorted him through the gates.

“How many  _ times _ , Jon?” His sister scolded. She released Aegon and looked as if she’d love nothing more than to bury herself in a heap of furs and sleep for the next ten years.

The rest of the party, led by Ser Lewyn, passed under the gate and into the yard. It was a larger gathering than last time, but not so large as to be alarming to their stores. Ned spotted Tyrion Lannister and Prince Oberyn riding alongside one another, a woeful sight if he’d ever seen one. 

“Jon!” Arya bellowed and bounced and managed to slip free of Catelyn’s grip. “Jon, Jon!”

She leapt right into his chest, almost knocking him over in her excitement. But the tiny boy he’d been was gone. A young man stood before them, not as tall as his brother yet, but Ned could see hints of Rhaegar for the first time. Jon was shorter, but his limbs and build were not unlike Aegon.

“You can talk now,” Jon said as he set Arya down on her feet. He seemed pleased at her joy, if a bit embarrassed. “More than ‘no’ and my name like when you were a baby.”

And she kicked him right in the shin. “I’m not a baby!”

Catelyn pulled her back into her place. Jon almost followed, but Ned watched him catch himself. He waited for his mother and Aegon instead, then made the introductions.

_ King’s Landing has served him well. _

Robb did well, too, giving both princes and their queen the proper greetings, though Ned had no doubts he’d be wrestling with Jon within the hour. Sansa was a perfect lady. Arya said hello, and that was nice enough for her. Bran ducked his face into his mother’s skirts no matter how Catelyn encouraged him.

“That’s just fine,” Lyanna told him, kneeling down to hug Arya and greet Bran. “The last time we saw you, you were just a tiny newborn.”

Bran peered over at her, pulling at Catelyn’s skirts to cover the rest of his face. “Like Rickon is now?”

Lyanna smiled and nodded. “I imagine so. You’re very lucky, Bran, having so many wonderful sisters and brothers. Jon and Aegon are brothers, too.”

Both boys nodded, but behind them Prince Oberyn’s face twisted. His look said enough for Ned.

A great wheelhouse creaked into sight. It was too wide to pass through the gates, although the inhabitant clearly didn’t care for such information. Prince Viserys emerged, red-faced and slightly staggering and more temperamental than any of Ned’s children.

“These gates should be wider,” Viserys snarled. His cloak was a twisted mess as he tried to join them. He finally got it straight, sneering and staggering with every movement. Within seconds, he was shivering in his silk clothes and cloak. “This whole castle is—”

“My home,” Lyanna said. She turned her dark gaze onto him, ready to snap her teeth around his throat. “Winterfell is not posh or extravagant as many castles in the south are. Up here, we build to withstand the cold. Would you like to retire to your chambers before we sup, good brother?”

Viserys seemed hesitant to continue his triad. Catelyn was quick to escort him instead, casting Ned a concerned glance before her and several guards disappeared inside with Viserys.

“You’d think the boys would have been the handful,” Lyanna muttered. Ned took her arm and waved the household back to their daily lives. “Viserys is more a trial than Jon has ever been.”

“He’s still a boy yet,” Ned reminded her, and behind them, the shrieks of children at play had already begun. “Come, let’s visit the godswood, let them wear themselves out for a while.”

He scooped Bran up into his arms. Robb and Jon both took off running, racing and laughing, their breath like clouds in the air. Aegon hesitated a moment, then followed. Sansa seemed unsure of what to do, but Arya was already screaming and sprinting after them.

To Ned’s displeasure, Tyrion Lannister followed. Where Oberyn had disappeared to, he could only guess.

“I hear we’re to journey to the Wall,” the little man said, wobbling beside them. “It’s my main reason for the trip. How often does one get such a chance?”

“Plenty this far north,” Ned said. “Especially with this Mance Rayder we’re hearing more of from the wildlings they catch.”

“Mance Rayder?” Lyanna’s brows pinched together. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“He’s a deserter, turned King-Beyond-the-Wall or some similar nonsense. We’ll take care of him if it comes down to it.”

Bran wasn’t listening, but he was watching Tyrion in fascination. “Why’re you little like me when you’ve got the big voice like Fawfer?”

Ned made to scold Bran, but to his surprise Tyrion took the question in stride.

“A big voice? My father will be pleased to hear that, though I doubt it will make up for my limbs.” He gave Bran a small smile. “My legs are little and so are my arms, stunted from birth unlike yours. And so my voice grew to a man’s, however short I may be.”

“Oh.” Bran squirmed about until Ned set him down, and the boy was near as tall as Tyrion Lannister. “Can I go play, too?”

“Yes, but no climbing.”

Bran raced off into the godswoods into the gloomy shade, following the laughter of the rest. Tyrion gave the trees a glance, but he was respectful as he stepped into the godswood, admiring the sights as he walked. Ned and Lyanna turned away from him, following the laughter to find the boys and Arya hard at play. Aegon still seemed reluctant, hesitant. Lyanna had warned him of that.

They took a seat beside the weirwood to watch them.

“Did you have to bring a Lannister along?”

His sister took his jest with ease. “I could not have stopped it if I had tried. He was quite determined. If I had to guess, its the only reason he chose to suffer so much time with Viserys present. He’s far more amenable than his sister.”

“Viserys seems…”

“He’s grown fond of drink since I last saw him,” Lyanna said. She pursed her lips and crossed her legs at the ankle. “I feared it would be a bad influence for the boys, but they both loathe him more every day. It seemed to have kept them from their foolish little plans to try to sneak their first bottle of wine.”

Ned grinned. “They’re about the age Benjen was. You remember how terrible he was that morning?”

She laughed a bit. “Gods, he missed the whole first day of the tourney. And all of our arguments, too.”

That soured his mood somewhat. Harrenhal’s tourney had been a spectacular affair, full of true knights and the best archers in the realm, but so much more had begun that day. He’d not seen it at the time. Not even his arguments with Lyanna over Robert Baratheon’s character had been enough to warn him of the war ahead.

_ I miss him. _

Though he’d never dared to express it aloud. His boyhood friend was eleven years dead, bled out and drowned in the Trident after King Rhaegar’s dragonbone dagger had found its opening between breastplate and underarm. The King had left with his own scars from Robert’s warhammer, but his life at least had been spared. Somedays, Ned still wondered how different it might have been had Robert lived.

_ He would never have bent the knee to Rhaegar, no matter the truth of Lyanna’s heart. Robert would not have stopped until one or both of them were dead. _

“A lucky man to miss your wrath for hours on end.” Ned nodded towards Jon then. “He’s matured since your last visit. His Grace’s influence is clear.”

Lyanna’s mood softened, too. “Yes, Rhaegar has changed somewhat. Enough to be a father for him.”

But not a husband as he’d once been. He’d expected no less of his sister, no more nephews nor a niece, but some part of him had hoped nevertheless it might someday come to fruition. 

“And you and Rhaegar have made peace?”

“As well as we can, dear brother.”

And for Ned that was enough. He’d love to have more nephews and nieces, and perhaps if Brandon had lived or Benjen had chosen a different course, he would have. But Jon was plenty, and afterall, Aegon and Rhaenys were his good-brother’s children. Blood may not be shared, but that was close enough to count. 

He turned to watch the children, the boys and Arya with wooden sticks in hand, laughing and swinging, even Aegon who had already loosen up with Jon’s encouragement and Bran’s endless interest in his pale hair.

“Seems like a good lad, too.”

She nodded in agreement when she saw him watching Aegon. “He is. Struggling a bit of late as manhood takes hold, but this age is a rough time for anyone. Jon adores him.”

It was all that could be hoped among brothers. Love and respect and a bond to see them through all that life would throw between them in the coming decades.

“You’ve yet to tell me what you have planned for them while we’re here, you know.” She elbowed him and batted her eyelashes. “Am I to be left at a woman's work, knitting by the fire?”

“Only if I want to find myself in the fire.” Ned turned away from the boys, spying Tyrion Lannister just in sight through the tree line, strolling along. “We’ve need to visit the Wall as you know, and return through the mountains to see our people there. It’s been a while since we’ve been through, and Robb especially needs to know them. It will be good for Jon and Aegon, too, so those people aren’t forgotten in the mountain passes. And Bear Island, perhaps. Lady Mormont has not come to visit in some time.”

“It’s a treacherous trip,” Lyanna reminded him. “Summer or not, snow up there is even more common than here.” She paused to call a reminder for Jon to not be so rough with Bran and Arya, then hooked her arm through his. “You understand our guests will likely journey with you. Not Viserys perhaps, even here is too sparse and cold for his liking, but…”

“I know.” He watched Tyrion Lannister waddle closer to their clearing, bending to examine one of the steaming hot springs. “Which is more concerning?”

Lyanna’s narrowed eyes were answer enough. She glanced at Tyrion, too. “He’s taken to the boys somewhat. Crude and a gossip, but the dangers seemed limited. I imagine Jon or Aegon could knock him down easily if he tried anything.”

“Sometimes words are more damaging,” Ned reminded her, but he too was far more concerned by Oberyn Martell’s presence. He was here to oversee his nephew, not the most suspicious reasoning considering the company that had come north.

“They’ve both proven capable of handling such things. But a man grown intent on physical harm…”

“Ser Arthur would never allow it,” Ned said, lowering his voice as the little Lord Lannister entered the clearing. Even now, Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn were hovering in the background, watching their princes with solemn expressions. “Nevertheless, two princes, Robb, a Martell, and a Lannister will be enough to manage. You’ll come along?”

“Wouldn’t miss an opportunity to see our baby brother.”

  


* * *

  


As Lyanna had warned him, Viserys proved a trial at every turn. First, his chambers were not to his liking, too simple and small, though the castle held no finer. Then it was the food, the ale, the endless chill of the north settling into his bones. Everywhere Viserys went, people scattered to avoid whatever his latest wrath might be. 

Ned did his best to play host to the young prince, but he too found himself going the other direction whenever he heard the surly shrillness of Viserys’s voice. He spent his days overseeing their preparations for their upcoming journey, keeping Bran from the rooftops and Arya from the training yard however she kicked and screamed. His son Robb had become fast friends with his cousin once more and Prince Aegon and Loras seemed to like him as well.

_ A good sign for the future. _

Loras Tyrell might never be the Lord of Highgarden, but his influence and friendship would be beneficial nevertheless for Robb. Whether for potential marriage options or for trade or war, though Ned hoped they’d seen enough of that for a long while. Only Theon seemed at odds with anyone. At once, Ned could see clearly how little Jon liked his ward. Theon had said one cocky word to Aegon in the training yard their first morning and ended up on the ground with Jon’s fist pummelling his face.

Lyanna had intervened, hauling her son off him, but that day had solidified the pair’s growing dislike.

“He’s an ass,” Jon would say whenever Ned tried to repair the damage. No matter how he pressed, Jon refused to state what Theon had said. “Everything is a joke to him. He thinks himself a little lordling, Uncle, though he’ll be a ward most of his life. He has one foot in Viserys’s boots already.”

Oberyn had taken note that first day in the yard, too. He’d insisted on being present as the boys sparred in the chilly morning yard. Every glance of his was shrewd and calculating. Ned long for the day he returned south for good, however he would miss his sister and nephew.

“My nephew needs a firm eye on his skills,” Oberyn said when Ned had asked. “If he is to live up to his Dornish heritage, he must wield a spear with twice the strength of his sister.”

And Aegon was trying, that much was clear when Ser Rodrik had them all drill with practice spears. He moved with grace like his brother, listened intently and worked until he collapsed, smiling at Jon whenever his brother gave in to exhaustion, too. The pair were thick as thieves, folding Robb right into their lot, but no matter how Aegon tried, it was clear the spear was not his strength.

“A wonderful shot,” Lyanna told their little prince, a fortnight since their arrival. Dusk was fast upon them, the sky scattered with fluffy clouds. “Now you need to try to shoot your own arrow through the first.”

Robb gave her a look of disbelief as Ned joined them in the yard. The sun was near gone, their final day at Winterfell before the Wall vanishing with the daylight. 

“You can't do that,” Robb said, swinging his bow as Jon took his turn. “It’s impossible to make such a shot.”

“It’s not,” Loras told him as Jon’s arrow sailed across the yard and sunk into the target. Not the cleanest shot, but the force and aim were near enough for an eleven year old. Right now, just bending the bow was a trial. Ned remembered those days well, Brandon teasing him every step of the way. “I’ve seen them do it at one of my father’s tourneys before. They sort of aim a bit higher and pierce the other arrow as it arcs. If they do that, the other archer loses their point.”

Jon and Robb looked skeptical, but Aegon was frowning in concentration, considering his last arrow where it had struck the very center. Loras had his turn, his arrow clipping the target’s edge and clattering to the ground. Robb’s missed, too, but Aegon’s did not. The prince’s arrow sunk right into the wood beside the first, the arrowhead embedded deep.

“I missed,” he muttered as Ned came over to end the day. 

“Looks a perfect shot to me,” Ned told him, clapping him upon the shoulder. Across the yard, Oberyn Martell was seated and watchful, Tyrion Lannister beside him with one of Winterfell’s great books across his lap. “I daresay, I couldn’t muster such a shot these days.”

“You couldn’t?” Robb looked up at him, scandalized. “But you’re a lord!”

“And lords rule more in castles than fire arrows in tourney.”

All four boys seemed to take heart in that as an excuse. Aegon, however, was still frowning at the target, squinting with his dominant eye.

“A bit higher, I think, then I can pierce the first one.”

He turned to Ned for permission, such a drastic change from Jon and Robb’s boldness and bullheadedness. The Stark blood in them, he supposed. They did what they wished and apologized later, but Aegon was far more thoughtful and aware.

“One more shot,” Ned said, nodding at Ser Rodrik. “Then we need to sup before an early bed.”

The old knight came to collect the other boys’ bows as Aegon moved to line up his final arrow. His size more than anything gave him his advantage. Manhood was upon him, the lanky limbs and growing muscles giving him just a touch more strength to bend the bow to his will. He took his aim slowly, inhaled as he lined up, and let it fly with his breath. Ned glanced at its arc, knowing it for true even before it hit. The arrow glanced off the feathered end of the one right in the center, almost piercing the wood. Instead it shaved half the side off and quivered where it struck the target.

Aegon frowned, but the other boys were clearly impressed. Their praise seemed both a surprise and delight to him. Not for the first time, Ned had to wonder how little Aegon was applauded for his skill in archery. With Jon and Loras proving very capable with their swords, the shadow, however unintentional, seemed long and dim.

“You did well,” Ned told him. “A few more practices, you’ll be splitting arrows and keeping Ser Rodrik hard at work making more to replace them.”

“Is he coming with us?”

“No, he’s to stay here and help my lady wife mind Winterfell.”

Jon seemed saddened a bit, then asked the question he’d approached several times before. “Is Viserys going with us?”

Lyanna frowned. “He hasn’t decided yet.”

Robb rolled his eyes. “We leave  _ tomorrow _ . How can he not know if he’s going to the Wall by now? He’s got to pack!”

As far as Ned had seen, Viserys had done little in the way of unpacking. He’d demanded servants to do it for him, then yelled at them for not doing it to his exact specifications. Every moment with him was a headache Ned hoped to leave behind in Winterfell.

“He never should have come,” Aegon said, and while his voice held no accusation, his eyes did. 

“He was quite adamant, Aegon,” Lyanna told him. “Your father agreed, elsewise he wouldn’t be here.”

Jon scowled. “He only came to be annoying.”

And that was part of it, as far as Ned had seen, but he couldn’t help but wonder what other reasoning had driven the decision. Viserys complained about everything in sight, but the king had not forced him to visit the North. He’d made the choice himself. For that reason alone, Ned wasn’t certain if he preferred the king’s brother along for their journey or to remain behind. If he came along, Ned could keep an eye on him. But if he stayed behind, Ned hadn’t a clue what he might get up to--or what danger that might pose for his younger children and wife.

“We’ll have his decision come morning,” Ned said. “Now off to eat. Go.”

The boys went, talking and laughing, racing off to the feast hall. Lyanna lingered behind with him, her arm looped through his.

“I can't thank you enough for how well you’ve been to all three of them.”

“What else is a lord to be if not courteous?” He patted her arm were it rested against his inner elbow. “Besides, I consider two of them my nephews, whatever blood is or is not shared.”

But he stopped there when he found Oberyn Martell within earshot. The Dornishman gave him a look. It said more than any harsh words might have, but the disquiet was enough for him to send Lyanna on to the castle. Lord Tyrion was still outside, carefully packing away the old book in the growing darkness. If he’d realized the looks between the two men were of consequence, he didn’t show it.

“I suppose we’ll depart quite early if we’re two princes instead of three, Lord Stark,” Tyrion said.

Ned nodded, but he kept his eyes on Oberyn Martell’s shrewd, narrowed eyes.

“Your horses will both be readied with ours.”

“And  _ my _ nephew’s as well, I presume? Alongside yours, of course.”

“Both princes will have their horses seen to as always.”

Tyrion stared up at them, shifting his mismatched eyes from one to the other. “If you’re that intent on it, just whip them out and piss right here,” he said, a sarcastic smile on his face. “I’m sure Prince Aegon and Prince Jon would be wholly unimpressed by their uncles defending their—”

“He is not my sister’s son.” Oberyn gave Tyrion a dark look. “Whatever he is, he is not our own. Elia’s heart may be soft, but I trust my own to know what she risks.”

Ned’s jaw clenched. “Jon is a good boy. He loves his brother.”

“He has no brothers,” Oberyn said. “Nor true sisters either.”

He left without another word, but Tyrion remained, far too cheerful and unoffended by the conversation. When he glanced up at Ned his smile shrunk.

“Oberyn is protective of the boy. I cannot fault him for it, he’s always been that way with Elia, too.”

“Jon is no harm to either of them.”

“Not yet,” Tyrion countered with no real heat. “But a dragon doesn’t breathe fire from its first breath.”

He was left alone in the yard as the sun sunk behind the castle walls. All the south seemed determined to think the worst of his nephew, to deny the obvious placed right before them. And now, Viserys or not, he’d have Oberyn Martell’s hand to eye and Jon’s back to guard every moment of their trip.

_ Ser Arthur will keep him safe, no matter the source of the threat. _

He always had before, even the day Ned had arrived at the tower of joy in the Red Mountains. If not for the new king’s signature, he’d have lost his own head instead of being allowed inside to see his sister and meet his newborn nephew. Ser Arthur was a man of honor, one who would have died before breaking his vows. But Oberyn Martell was just shrewd enough to make that task impossible.

Ser Rodrik appeared beside him, done clearing the yard from the boys’ practice. “Is there anything else, my lord?”

“I’d like to speak with Ser Arthur a moment this evening, in private.”

The old knight nodded, and did as he was asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that for this update! Jon will be next and then I'm not sure. A few options after that, but we'll see how Jon's chapter ends first. Also, probably the new story I wrote for NaNo at some point in the next week or so.
> 
> Until next time, stay safe!


	17. JON III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How long has it been? How late am I? I have no damn idea, lmao, but I'm still alive and 11 months into a global pandemic, that's what counts!
> 
> Here's our little, but not so little Jon anymore!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Beat you again!”

Aegon’s stallion charged in second, joining Jon at the edge of the bridge. Their swords rattled at their hips as Aegon scowled.

“I wasn’t ready,” Aegon muttered.

Jon rolled his eyes. “You called the start, not me.”

Loras and Robb had stayed behind. Loras was off talking with the knights again, but Robb had been stuck to Lord Stark’s side all day as Lord Umber rode with them. Even from their distance, Jon could hear the roaring thunder of the gigantic lord’s voice.

“Best he stayed,” Lord Umber was bellowing jovially. “The North’s too hard for that pansy-ass, southron—”

Aegon kicked his horse forward, and Jon was quick to follow him across the little stone bridge. Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn joined them, silent in their exasperation at another race. On the road to the Wall, there was little else in the way of entertainment. 

Jon eyed his brother’s anxious expression. “He talks a big game, that’s all.”

“It  _ is _ best Viserys stayed at Winterfell,” Aegon said softly, and while they’d both been pleased to leave their uncle and his snotty drama behind, Lord Umber’s words were more than that. “But…”

“It’s a stupid way to think,” Jon said. Gloom and anger settled over him as he glanced back at Lord Umber, and then Theon Greyjoy in particular. “Being different doesn’t make you less than someone else. Even if you’re...”

Aegon nodded, eyes downcast. Out here in the open, they could not talk like they did when they were alone in shared chambers. Their sworn shields could hear them, the other lords and knights might, too. Neither of them had mentioned it aloud, but it seemed something about Aegon hinted at it all the same. Jon loved him regardless, but clearly others might not like his brother just as he was.

He’d had his own share of that, albeit for different reasons. To them, Jon was a well-loved bastard, and Aegon, if rumors spread, would be less favorable as well to the realm. It all seemed quite foolish to him.

_ Father surely wouldn’t care _ , Jon thought, but he’d never quite forgotten how he had struggled against Father’s expectations as a boy.

A few years ago, Aegon was just a boy to the realm at large. A silent shadow at the king’s heel, more a painting upon the wall than a person in the room. But that was changing fast. A timid prince was a weakness to all of them, though to Jon it was mere thoughtfulness on his brother’s part. When the moments arrived, Aegon found his courage.

Mother came riding up then, her annoyance clear on her face.

“Sorry,” Jon said at once, and she simply rolled her eyes at his complete lack of guilt. “We were only racing.”

“The very thing I and your uncle have forbidden you from doing.”

“Uncle Viserys isn’t here to scold me.”

“Don’t get cheeky, he’s as useless as a broken blade. You know the uncle I mean,” she snapped. “Aegon, head back to the column with Ser Lewyn. I need a word with your brother.”

Aegon obeyed at once. Lyanna led Jon further on, putting more distance between them and their small column. Ser Arthur trailed after them.

“I expressly told you not to continue racing, Jon.” His mother sighed, frustrated, but Jon knew it wasn’t solely for his behavior. Viserys had been a great stress on her for weeks now, but it was Aegon’s Dornish uncle that made both her and Uncle Ned anxious. They both seemed to think if Jon wandered far enough, Oberyn would take his chances at harm. “You are old enough to race about now, yes, I’ve said it before, so long as you stay in sight or Ser Arthur is nearby, but not all threats are dangers lurking in the shadows, Jon. The ones that tend to be the most real are in plain sight.”

“Have you told that to everyone else about Viserys then?” His challenge was met with a hard glare that made Jon duck his gaze. “Mother, Aegon won’t let—”

“Your brother is a boy,” she said. “The next king, yes, but a boy for now. He could not prevent such harm with only words, Jon.”

Jon frowned but kept silent. His brother would be a grand king, better than Father if he had to guess. But Oberyn Martell’s feelings toward him, in particular regarding his friendship with his own brother, could be well beyond Aegon’s control—and his own.

“You must be more careful.” His mother reached over and pulled him to a stop. “You must not go off alone, or put yourself at risk for a bit of fun right now. I intend to have both you and Aegon return to King’s Landing the same as you were when you left, but I cannot be certain of that if you continue to be frivolous.”

“I’m not—”

“Jon. Intention and practicality are not the same thing right now. Please,  _ please _ , heed my words, sweet wolf.”

And the old pet name cowed him in a way nothing else could. His mother only wanted him safe while they journeyed across the North. But it was not fair, and he lost something as nodded in acknowledgement. Robb could race about as he wished and Loras could wander and talk to all the knights for hours and hours. Even Aegon could move more freely than he could. His every moment and word was watched by those who wished him harm and those intent on protecting him from it. The other boys could have their fun, but he had to be visible and invisible to try to appease everyone.

She gave him an uneasy smile and Jon took her hand.

“I will, Mother.”

“Good boy.” She leaned over to kiss his forehead and straighten his circlet. “No more racing. Agreed?”

He did, though not without noting the words she didn’t say.

_ Until we know who we can trust _ .

Because Viserys’s absence had both given Lyanna relief and unsettled her. Jon didn’t fully understand it, but he’d seen the looks of uncertainty his uncle had cast over their knights and guards, the soldiers that they’d brought along but honestly didn’t know all by name. Viserys had made one of the longest journeys possible in all the seven kingdoms. Surely, he’d had a reason for it. Father had not forced him along; he’d volunteered.

What those reasons were, however, Jon could only guess at for now.

All Jon was certain of was the man Viserys had become was not worthy of respect. The man that had come east and now north with Viserys, however, was.

As Jon trotted his horse back into the column, he spotted Tyrion Lannister and made his way toward him. Ser Arthur had given him a similar lecture as his mother and uncle, but his sworn shield had made a point to include Tyrion into his list of men to not trust. For Jon, however, Tyrion seemed just rude enough to be kind. He was a strange character, but the more they spoke the more Jon grew to like him. Tyrion was honest and blunt with him, unlike most of the south.

“I’m surprised you don’t host a race for the Wall,” Tyrion said as Jon fell in step beside him. The little man grinned, his mismatched eyes amused. “It would make this journey more interesting, and we’d all be far warmer.”

“It’s not that cold,” Jon said, and to him it wasn’t. He had a big fur cloak his uncle had gifted him, and the cold was almost refreshing with how hot Dorne had been. “Uncle Ned says the winters up here could freeze bone marrow if you stay outside for too long. It’s why they’ve got tunnels at Castle Black to get around from building to building.”

“Not to mention the fact that the snows bury them entirely.”

They paused for the evening to make camp beside a stream in the treeline. Tyrion dismounted and left his horse to be tended, taking a gigantic book to sit with under a young oak. Jon hesitated a moment, spotted Aegon closely followed by Oberyn Martell, before joining Tyrion. When he took a seat across from Tyrion, the man didn’t so much as glance at him, but a note of surprise lingered in his voice when he spoke.

“No adventures in the forest this evening? I was looking forward to Queen Lyanna’s increasingly exasperated lectures before bed.”

Jon frowned. “You read almost as much as Aegon.”

“A well read mind is important for a king. Surely, your father has taught you that.”

And Rhaegar had, though it had taken Jon some time to listen and see that truth. He’d never minded lessons and history, sums and grammar and everything in between, but he found it far more enjoyable to run around outside or in the training yard, to imagine himself a Targaryen of old with a great dragon, or a fabled hero from centuries or millennia ago.

“You’re not a prince nor a future king like they are.”

That gave Tyrion pause. HE cast a critical eye over Jon’s face, and Jon stared back in bemusement. Whatever Tyrion had been looking for, he seemed pleased by its absence.

“No, but when you look at me, you know what you see.” Tyrion bent the corner of his page and closed his book, then waited for an answer.

Sensing a trap, Jon hesitated. “I see you. Lord Tyrion, heir to Casterly Rock.”

That earned him a deep, true laugh. He’d learned a bit of the man across from him in their weeks together thus far, and understanding Tyrion’s false laughs had been easy with Viserys around.

“You’re far too polite for a bastard.”

Jon flinched. The word stung no matter how untrue his family insisted it was. Other people believed it, they whispered it with their eyes, and sometimes with their words when Father, Grandmother, Mother, and Elia weren’t around. Visiting the North was the only place he’d found so far where such whispers didn’t dog him. 

“I’m not a bastard,” Jon muttered, but the weight of the word pulled him down nevertheless. “Father would have your tongue if you ever said that in his presence.”

“And I am not a dwarf, perhaps my father will officially name me his heir instead of letting the rest of the realm assume it as true.”

“But you have to be,” Jon reasoned. “Your sister married Lord Baratheon and your brother was sent to the Wall.”

“He was,” Tyrion agreed. “Why else would I be along?”

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you,” Jon said. “I was very excited to see Aegon, Rhaenys, and Dany after my last visit to Winterfell and that was only six moons apart.”

Tyrionn tried to smile. “I suppose he will.”

“I saw him last time.” Jon bit his lip. “Mother and Ser Arthur didn’t like him because he killed my grandfather.”

“Yes, my brother has a nasty habit of murdering kings. I imagine he’d have been salivating just at the sight of a six-year-old Targaryen prince.”

Jon frowned. “They kept me away from him.”

“That’s not so surprising,” Tyrion said and he opened his book once more.

“Father’s never said why he did it, you know,” Jon continued. “Sometimes I’m not sure if he’s ashamed of the truth or simply lacks the real answer.” 

Robb arrived then, determined to drag him off to play with Loras and Aegon in the stream, skipping stones, and Jon went without a fuss. Whatever reason Ser Jamie had had, nobody had shared it with him or Aegon. Father hadn’t answered when they’d asked, had seemed too pained to mention the truth. Perhaps it had been a fit of madness on Ser Jaime’s part. Though, as best Jon recalled, he’d been perfectly sane five years ago.

* * *

Light snow fell every other day, turning to slush as they marched, then hardening to an icy crust each morning. Ser Lewyn’s horse ended up stepping right through the frozen lake around Queenscrown and dumping him into the shallow water. They’d had to stop for the day there, left to explore the small tower. Aegon didn’t seem to quite know what to make of so much cold and white, and Loras was in awe until the sun went down.

Jon was delighted by the whole trip. He could still recall parts of his first visit, but so much has been lost in the blur of his nightmares back then. Nightmares were still with him, but they had become old friends now. The fear of them had mostly gone, morphing slowly into a deeper understanding of what he saw some nights when he slept. When they did greet his dreams, they were usually that same terrible white landscape north of the Wall, the wights and Others closing in. 

But sometimes, they were different now, too. Sometimes he was with Dany, sharing an embrace against the deepest dark of winter’s night. And other times he was not himself at all. He was a great beast, hunting through the snow and trees, his paws great and strong as they pressed into the earth. Some nights, he was trapped in a tight, bloody warmth, small and confused. But always, when he dreamed those dreams, he woke when a pair of bleeding eyes found him in the dark.

Dany had her dreams, too, but not nearly as frequently as his.

_ Hers are true dragon dreams, not nightmares beyond the Wall. _

“Is that it?” Aegon shielded his eyes against the sun, squinting north at the Wall and the black shapes built at its base. “I thought it would be bigger.”

“It’s seven hundred feet high, how much bigger did you want it?”

Aegon rolled his eyes. “Castle Black, I mean. It’s almost sad.”

They’d learned the history of the Night’s Watch, at least from the capital’s perspective, but not the shambles it had fallen into in their lifetimes.

“The insides are warm, and they’ve got tunnels underground for when it snows too much,” Jon said. “But I suppose it has to be sad, doesn’t it? Why would Father and the lords send criminals to a place that looks happy?”

His brother didn’t seem to like that, however true it was. “They aren’t all criminals.”

Castle Black did not greet their party with the same fanfare they’d grown used to on the road to Winterfell. Uncle Benjen rode out to meet them, a little more grim and gaunt, but his smile was brighter than the sun reflecting off the Wall’s face.

“Next time I see you, you’ll be as big as me,” Uncle Benjen said once they’d dismounted in the yard. He hoisted Jon into a big hug. 

“I hope so,” Jon said once he was set down. His uncle hugged Lyanna, Uncle Ned, and Robb. “This is Aegon, Uncle Benjen.”

And Aegon got the same treatment, too, much to Jon’s delight.

“Gods, you’re nearly as tall as Ned you are. Jon treating you right?”

Aegon nodded, startled at the hug and relieved to be back on the ground. “He’s my best friend.”

Oberyn Martell appeared then, a hand resting on the pommel of his sword. Jon backed away at once, went off to join Robb and Uncle Ned in greeting Lord Commander Mormont. The Old Bear was gruff and gloomy, but he seemed glad for the visit.

He squinted down at Jon. “Prince Jaehaerys, welcome back.”

And it was good to be back at the Wall. Here, Jon was certain of the world, of what awaited them in the dark in the years to come. Politics weren’t involved when it came to the Others.

Mormont took Jon and Aegon on a tour, Lord Tyrion and Prince Oberyn joining them. It made Jon nervous, and seemed to unnerve Ser Arthur as well. He kept himself between Jon and the rest, from building to building, and all the way to the cage that would hoist them to the top of the Wall. Uncle Benjen was there to greet them, Robb and Loras already inside and excited to see the top.

Jon hurried to the opening, Ser Arthur on his heels. Tyrion followed and Prince Oberyn, too.

“Theon’s already up top,” Robb told them, annoyed. “He didn’t have to sit in with Father and Mormont.”

But Jon was focused on Aegon, hesitant at the opening to the cage, his gaze locked on the chain and the top of the Wall high, high above.

Robb waved him in. “You coming, Aegon?”

His brother bit his lip, and for Jon that was answer enough.

“We’re both tired from the tour,” he told everyone else. “I think we’ll skip the top today. Besides,we need to go visit Uncle Aemon before he thinks we’ve forgotten him.”

Robb and Loras made rude noises, but Uncle Benjen seemed to understand. He nodded at Jon, waved the others in who wished to continue. Tyrion went with them, but Oberyn stayed, as Jon had known he would. He considered both Aegon and Jon in silence.

Aegon didn’t say anything as they watched the cage swing its way upward. He seemed both relieved and upset with himself.

“Come on, his chambers are this way.”

* * *

Uncle Aemon was smiling as soon as they opened his door. His hair was a little thinner, his eyes more milky white, but he was delighted to see Jon again and meet Aegon.

“Twice the size of last time,” Uncle Aemon said when he hugged Jon. “I’m surprised you even remember that visit you were so young.”

“Who could forget you, Uncle?” He gazed over at the tidy desk. “Did you get all of our ravens?”

Uncle Aemon laughed. “More than Castle Black has received in centuries, and all for me. I can’t tell you how exasperated Lord Commander Mormont was some days, hunting through the heaps for a reply from Eastwatch.”

“And the last one?” Aegon asked. “I made the language up myself, so you could read our letters instead of someone reading them for you.”

Uncle Aemon motioned at his desk and Jon pulled open the drawer at the top center. Inside was so packed full of letters that they bulged over the top and spilled to the floor. They had to hunt for a few minutes to find the right one.

“I guess we have been sending a lot,” Jon said as he tried to fit them all back in the drawer. 

“I’ve kept every single one from all of you, your father included.”

“He’s still writing?” 

Uncle Aemon nodded and Jon smiled. He’d hoped Father would stick with it this time, and hearing he had was like swallowing the sun. How he’d hoped the whole family would shower their dear uncle with letters and love, especially Father after his long silence.

“It’ll take some practice to learn how to read it,” Aegon said, “but each set of little bumps is a letter. So you can read it by touch since you can’t see anymore.”

Aegon had never been so excited as he was to teach Uncle Aemon the strange language he’d come up with. Jon had learned some of it, but only Aegon knew it by heart. He’d been inventing it for over a year, designing an arrangement of bumps specific to each letter, then forming them into words. Finding a way for Uncle Aemon to read their letters himself would make his life easier, or so was Aegon’s reasoning.

Jon sat in the armchair behind the desk as he tried to force all the letters back into the drawer. Most were him, Dany, Aegon, and Rhaenys, even a few from his mother and grandmother. His father’s hand was very distinct, however. With a quick glance at his brother and uncle, he unrolled one of Father’s letters to find his own name and Dany’s mentioned countless times. His stomach churned.

Even a few sentences in, all the unknown answers for his future were addressed in Rhaegar’s own hand. Discussions to betroth him to a Northern girl, to keep Daenerys in the south, to not allow their dreams to claim them with madness. Father seemed convinced it was for the best by his own words. That separating them in life would keep them from trying to live out fantasies.

_ He’s wrong, _ Jon thought, his eyes burning.  _ He’s as much a fool as Viserys. _

He stuffed the scrolls back into the drawer and excused himself. Outside, Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn were minding the door. The sun had disappeared behind the towers to the west, long shadows filling the yard. Jon did his best not to run, to not cry in anger at his father’s words. Surely, Uncle Aemon would have argued against his ideas. He had believed Jon with his dreams last time. Aemon seemed to be the only adult who did. But an old maester on the Wall wouldn’t be enough to sway a king.

Jon leaned his forearms on the wooden balcony railing, Ser Arthur’s shadow upon him. Down below, several of the black brothers were still drilling in the yard under the watchful eye of a man Jon could only just recall from last time. But Ser Jaime could be no other. 

The knight was near as tall as Ser Arthur, his hair golden and shining. He looked strong as a boar, but far quieter as he walked among the sparing pairs, giving mumbled advice, adjusting one boy’s grip. Tyrion and he were as unlike as was physically possible. Jon watched him work with the men, watched him take out his own golden-gripped sword and demonstrate. It was easy to see why he’d been offered a place in the kingsguard. Every motion was fluid, sharp, exact.

“Ser Arthur?”

His sworn shield shifted to his side instead of his back.

“Did you ever ask Ser Jaime  _ why _ he did it?”

He had to wait for an answer as the black brothers were dismissed for supper and Tyrion joined Ser Jaime in the clean up. Prince Oberyn joined them, conversing quietly. At his side, Ser Arthur’s cloak rustled as he grasped Jon’s shoulder. 

“A man of the kingsguard is sworn to protect his king, Jon. No reason could ever be good enough for breaking such an oath.”

“But you didn’t even ask? Did Father ask? Someone  _ must _ have asked.”

“The reason doesn’t matter, only the action.”

Frustrated, Jon shrugged his hand off and stared down at the yard. He was slightly alarmed to find the three men looking his way as they talked. For a moment, he wondered if Ser Jaime had heard him.

“We best get to supper, my Prince,” Ser Arthur said, and his hands forcefully steered Jon back toward the other end of the balcony, to the staircase much further away from the feast hall—that put a greater distance between himself and the Lannisters and Oberyn. 

“And its best to leave such questions in the past with the deed,” he added once they were inside the smoky noise of the hall. Black brothers filled the tables, his mother and uncles at the high table with the Lord Commander, two spots open at the slightly lower table beside Robb and Loras. “Some questions don’t need answers.”

_ But I do. _

* * *

They’d planned for a month’s visit, and Jon was glad for the length this time. He got to see so much more than before, was introduced to those who managed the Wall’s every need from the First Builder and First Steward, to the men who aided Uncle Aemon. They were gruff men in truth, lowborn and ill-spoken. The only man kept from him those first days was Ser Jaime, Castle Black’s master-at-arms. 

“He didn’t say much when I tried to talk to him,” Loras said, a fortnight into their visit. He’d been allowed much more time to roam with Robb until the last few days. Uncle Ned had gone to see some of the unmanned castles to their west with Uncle Benjen and a handful of rangers. “I almost thought he was mute.”

Robb shook his head. “Father says he’s a traitor.”

Aegon nodded in agreement, but Jon stirred his stew, still thinking on Ser Jaime. He’d not been let out of sight since their arrival. And Uncle Ned’s temporary departure had only increased his mother and Ser Arthur’s watchfulness.

“I still want to speak to him,” Jon finally said, and while the other boys didn’t seem interested, he wasn’t deterred. “It’s important.”

“What could be so important to ask of a kingslayer?”

Jon gave his cousin a hard look and didn’t answer. He finished his meal and departed for the yard with Ser Arthur close at hand. Even Lord Commander Mormont had been easier to speak with over supper about Jon and Aegon’s questions of the Others. While he hadn’t seemed to believe them, he did have knowledge of their dreams from Uncle Aemon’s word over the last several years. But Ser Jaime was elusive. He ate at different hours, sometimes not at all, a golden lion who sunk into the shadows like a dark horse.

“Barley and onion stew again?”

Tyrion Lannister was in the yard, looking half-frozen despite the thaw of the last few days. Even the Wall had been weeping just that afternoon. He and Aegon had spent half the day watching it, wondering how hot it would have to be for the entire structure to melt. If the Others were a bit smarter, they’d bring summer instead to wash it out of the way.

“Yes,” Jon told him. “Is your brother around?”

Tyrion gave him a funny little eyebrow raise. “You’ll need more than his location and twice the charm of your father to get the answers you’re looking for.”

Jon scowled, glanced at Ser Arthur standing over him. “Has he told you?”

Tyrion grinned. “I didn’t care to ask.”

He left Jon in the yard, gazing up at the Wall. The moon was just rising, full and bright and plumper than a newborn babe. Behind him, the feast hall’s door burst open bringing a rush of warmth and the laughter of his brother, cousin, and friend.

“We should go see the top in the dark,” Robb was saying. He came over and tossed his arm around Jon’s shoulders. “What do you think?”

And Jon was fine with it, but he’d not even talked to Aegon about his fears yet. His brother had taken one look at the towering height and dodged the ascent ever since.

“You’re going to need something warmer than that,” Jon told Robb. “I’ll go up, I suppose, if Ser Arthur doesn’t mind a chill.”

His knight said nothing, but that was answer enough for Robb and Loras. They raced off to their shared chamber in the king’s tower, leaving Jon and Aegon alone with their sworn shields. They’d both been wearing their fur cloaks and gloves nonstop. 

“If you don’t want to go, I’ll make an excuse,” Jon told him. 

Aegon shivered and tightened his cloak around himself, but shook his head. “No, I’ll go, just not too close to the edge. Uncle Aemon says its a beautiful view. To not let fear stop me from seeing it.”

“He’s right.”

Aemon took a deep breath. “Maybe Ser Jaime will be on watch duty so you can talk with him.”

Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn both shifted at that, and even without them voicing their disagreement, Jon knew they’d prevent him. If talking with Ser Jaime in the yard was unacceptable, atop the Wall would be a nonstarter. It was, afterall, the easiest place to cause him harm.

Robb and Loras returned in thicker cloaks and gloves and even a hat for Loras. They filed into the cage and rang the bell to be heaved upward. It took a while, and though Robb and Loras were thrilled to see the moonlit landscape to the south, Aegon continued to shiver at Jon’s side. Careful as he could, Jon reached around their cloaks and gave his brother’s hand a squeeze.

“I’m fine,” Aegon whispered, though his voice shook.

The black brothers at the top were cursing as the cage reached them, but when they realized who it was they fell silent. Ser Arthur was the first out, and very carefully, the boys were helped over the gap. Aegon thanked the men who’d lifted them, though he only got blank stares in return.

“No running,” Ser Lewyn warned them. “This late, it’ll be far icier than before. Stay away from the edges, too.”

Robb and Loras rushed ahead, and Aegon hesitated a moment as he seemed to steel himself for where they were, but Jon stayed behind, gazing down the opposite side of the Wall. He didn’t see any tall, golden-haired men.

“Jon, come along.”

Ser Arthur nudged him to follow the others, and reluctantly, he did. At each lookout point, Jon glanced in to see who was there, but all the men huddled against the cold were far too old or small to be Ser Jaime. Disappointed, Jon went to catch up with the other boys. They’d stopped at one of the empty posts, Ser Lewyn keeping them from getting too close to the edge.

“A quick look,” Ser Arthur told them. “That’s all.”

Only Aegon didn’t go. Jon took a moment for a glance, to see the snow sparkling hundreds of feet below as the moon rose higher. It was a beautiful sight, but not the reason he’d come up here. Behind them, someone was scattering fresh rocks on the path. Jon poked his head out as the brother went past, and grinned.

Ser Jaime was hard at work, making the wide path atop the Wall usable for the men who guarded it.

“Ser Jai—”

“No.” Ser Arthur tugged him back into the lookout, but Jon had had enough. “I’ve warned you not to—”

“I am not some stableboy for you to order around every day and night,” Jon snapped. Ser Arthur looked momentarily shocked by his words before his face shifted back to its usual mask. “I am a royal prince, and you are my guard, not my father. If I wish to speak to someone, I will. Your duty is to protect my person from harm, not to coddle me.”

He knew immediately he’d cross some previously undiscovered line. Ser Arthur’s entire demeanor shifted. Aegon was gazing at Jon in amazement, and Ser Lewyn glanced from Jon to Arthur. Jon held his knight’s gaze, and he felt the change that passed between them. For a moment, he felt like he was Father with Ser Gerold as a silent, obedient shadow at his back. Until now, he’d never really noticed the difference.

“As you say, my Prince.”

Jon stepped out into the main path. Ser Jaime had continued on with his rocks, but he’d clearly been listening as Jon hurried after him.

“I’ve nothing to say to you, little Prince.”

“I have questions all the same.”

Behind him, Jon heard the ringing of the bell for the cage, and then the curses of the men as they began the laborious task of heaving it back to the top. Robb and Loras were prattling on, checking one lookout spot after another, Ser Lewyn scolding them to stay put.

Ser Jaime tossed another handful of rocks onto the ice. His handsome face twisted into a very sour expression when he saw Ser Arthur.

“Yes, everyone wishes to know why the kingslayer earned his name, don’t they?”

“Not everyone is that king’s grandson.” Jon glared back at his knight when Ser Arthur tried to place a hand on his shoulder. “You should go help Ser Lewyn before someone slips.”

And it was certainly true. Loras had taken some black brother’s spear and he and Robb were having a laugh tossing it around while Ser Lewyn tried to stop them. Aegon rolled his eyes as he stepped past Jon and Ser Jaime, making his slow way along to the west.

With a reluctant nod, Ser Arthur went to help. Ser Jaime continued on, skipping a great deal of icy walkway and then snarling when he realized Jon was keeping pace with him.

“Would you like to pass, dragonprince? Join your brother?”

Aegon was well ahead of them, his head turning at each lookout he passed.

“I want to talk to you.” Jon stuffed his hand into the bag of crushed rocks and scattered some on the ice. “As best I understand it, nobody ever bothered to ask you  _ why _ you killed him. Or if they did, they won’t tell me. I figured I’d ask you while I had the chance.”

Ser Jaime tossed more rocks onto the ice, too. He gave Jon a curious glance. “Kings have died for less than Aerys.”

“Not on the sword of a kingsguard,” Jon countered. “I know you stabbed him with yours. And I know there must have been a good reason, otherwise Father would have executed you. Not even Lord Tywin could have dismissed his sentencing if what you did wasn’t justified.”

Ser Jaime held the bag open for him, and Jon tossed more onto the ground. Behind them, it sounded as if Robb and Loras had cut someone and were getting the scolding of their lives. The cage had reached the top as well, creaking loudly as the wind caught it.

“What do you know of wildfire?”

“Wildfire? I’ve never—”

A dozen feet ahead of them, Aegon screamed. 

Jon’s hand was on his sword before he could think. He sprinted toward his brother’s yells, and the sudden angry bellows of an unknown man. Behind him, Ser Jaime followed, slipping and stumbling, crushed rocks spilling all over the ice.

“Egg?”

He found them in an ill-kept lookout, Aegon near the edge, the ice at his side dark with blood. The black brother was standing over him, a dagger in hand. As the light caught the curved blade, the handle of bone, Jon unsheathed his sword and swung. Obsidian came down on the man’s wrist, sending a great jolt through Jon’s arms as it cut through flesh and bone alike.

The dagger and hand went over the edge into the dark. Aegon scrambled to his knees and through the man’s legs as he shrieked in pain. When the man turned, Jon backed away, eyes were fixed on the bleeding stump where the man’s hand had been.

“Dragon bastard!”

Their attacker was bearded, his cheeks smeared with dirt, but the accent was very much of home. His rage seemed to numb his pain. He grabbed Jon’s throat with his remaining hand, bellowing and cursing and hoisting him off his feet as if to throw him. Jon choked. The man’s fingers squeezed as Jon tried to kick himself free, to break his grip. His vision went blurry, brighter than the hottest fire—

Aegon gasped. A sword pushed through the man’s chest, his eyes widened, and he stumbled a few steps backward, Jon still in his grasp. He managed to gasp in a breath as the man’s grip loosened.

“Jon!”

Aegon’s hands caught his cloak and upper arm as the man toppled off the Wall. Fear clenched his insides as he tumbled, the ice disappearing from under him, the sky wide open and vast as the ground far below replaced the Wall. Aegon’s hands were still on him, tighter than a noose. Another hand joined his brother’s, on his leg and then neck, gloved and cold and much larger.

He was heaved backward with a great yell and the world turned over. Jon’s back slammed into the hard ice, Aegon landing beside him. His throat ached like a horse had kicked it. He sucked in a wheezing breath. Overhead the stars twinkled merrily.

“Jon? Jon, are you—”

“I’m fine,” he croaked. Beside him, Aegon was in tears, his cheek bleeding freely. “Your face—”

His brother smeared his bloody cheek with his sleeve.

“You’re both  _ idiots _ .” Ser Jaime was a rumpled mess, his sword gone, his hair all over his face. “If I—”

Suddenly three swords were at his throat. Jon sat up. Ser Lewyn, Ser Arthur and Prince Oberyn were there, glaring death down at their savior.

“I knew you weren’t to be trusted,” Ser Arthur raged. “Not even five minutes and you try to—”

“It wasn’t him,” Aegon said, and the strength of his voice surprised Jon. His brother had never been one to shout, to command so openly, but right then, he was louder than a dragon. “It was one of the Night’s Watch men. Ser Jaime stabbed him. He… he fell.”

Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn still seemed skeptic. Prince Oberyn, however, turned his dark eyes from Ser Jaime to Jon. And then to Jon’s bloody sword dangling at the Wall’s edge.

“Or a bastard prince and a forsaken knight—”

“Jon saved my life,” Aegon snapped. He stumbled to his feet and drew his own sword, pointing it right at his uncle’s face. “If you ever touch him, I’ll—I’ll—”

Oberyn lowered his blade. He didn’t say anything as Ser Arthur did the same and hoisted Jon to his feet. Jon winced as he was looked over, as Ser Arthur tilted his chin up to examine his throat. 

“You’re bruising already,” he told Jon. “Here.”

Ser Arthur chipped a chunk of ice free, ripped a piece of his cloak off, wrapped the ice in it and pressed it to Jon’s throat. Jon tried to wriggle free.

“Keep it there,” Ser Arthur ordered. “It’ll help any swelling.”

Behind him, Ser Lewyn had ripped his own cloak for Aegon’s cheek. Ser Jaime had regained his feet, but Oberyn’s sword was back on him.

“He stabbed the… the man,” Jon rasped. He coughed violently. “Ser Jaime—”

He and Aegon were lifted into their knights’ arms and hurried back to the cage. On the ground, the world was silent, the yard empty. Jon’s entire neck was throbbing and tight. Aegon had been allowed to reclaim his feet, but Ser Arthur had completely ignored Jon’s whispered command.

Robb and Loras were ordered to their chambers. They both went without a fuss as Ser Arthur carried him to Uncle Aemon’s tower. Aegon followed, Ser Lewyn, Oberyn, and Ser Jaime behind them.

Uncle Aemon was sleeping in his armchair before the fire when they burst in. Everything was a rush then. He was examined, his throat checked over, and Aegon’s cheek, his mother arriving half in terror. Jon let them dote, his eyes on Ser Jaime in the corner, Oberyn’s sword still at his throat. His mother pulled him into her lap and cradled him like he was dying.

“I’m fine,” he muttered even though it hurt. “Ser… Jaime. Saved us.”

That seemed to set the room astir again. Aegon was still getting his cheek stitched, but he was quick to agree.

“Jon cut off his hand, Ser Jaime gutted him. He went over the north side of the Wall.”

Ser Arthur nodded, though he still looked suspicious of his former brother. “I’ll wake the Lord Commander and see what we find.”

_ The truth _ , Jon wanted to say, but talking hurt too much. He slid out of Lyanna’s lap and onto the little cot. He shut his eyes as Aegon joined him, curling into his brother’s side as they both fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Lyanna to take us from Wall and back, or some such journey. It's going to be a... chapter, let's say. A very, very chaptery... chapter.
> 
> After her... Dany? Rhaegar? Rhaella? We're reuniting all the Targs in the south essentially, so there's that to look forward to soon.
> 
> Update... February? -is giving up on consistently and just making sure to not stop at this point-
> 
> Probably a Winter's Phoenix update before this since the first 50k of that was written for NaNo so there's just editing to do for the next chapter there.
> 
> Until next time, stay safe, wear a mask, kick a fascist in the ass! <3


	18. LYANNA III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaack! Here's Lyanna and the Wall, and some happenings that happen.
> 
> Enjoy!

Ser Arthur had not left the room since she’d arrived.

Jon and Aegon slept in silence in the maester’s cot, her in the chair beside them and Aemon asleep before the fire. She’d kept it going all through the night, stoking the flames, adding a log every now and then. The boys had woken only once at her insistence of changing Aegon’s bandages and the ice wrap for Jon’s throat. His bruising was not truly severe, but far worse than anything he’d had before.

“First light, you said?”

Ser Arthur nodded, tried and failed to hide his yawn. He’d not slept either. They were both too on edge to dare it. Ser Lewyn was posted outside the room, and a pair of knights they’d brought from King’s Landing were at the only staircase to their door. She didn’t trust anyone else to protect them. Not until Ned and Benjen returned, not until they found the man’s body and confirmed who he was.

“Dawn will be here soon. Lord Commander Mormont didn’t want to risk an ambush in the dark.”

Lyanna sat up and adjusted the fur cloak she’d wrapped herself in. Mormont’s reasoning was understandable, but the waiting was unbearable. If some animal decided to take the Night’s Watchman’s corpse before they went below, they would never find the truth.

_ Except the dagger _ .

Jon had rasped out the words when she’d woken him a few hours ago to change the ice and snow in his wrappings. He’d recognized it, was convinced it was a dagger he’d seen before. The very dagger that Rhaegar had once gifted Viserys as a nameday present.

Her stomach churned just to think of it. But it would explain so much more of her good brother’s reasons for traveling north.

“Let us hope the dagger is found, if nothing else,” she said. “If Jon is correct…”

“I have no doubt he is.” Ser Arthur sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. “That dagger is one of a kind, the blade Valyrian steel, the handle dragonbone. Even now, I can hear him sobbing when Viserys refused to let him so much as touch it.”

She smiled slightly at that memory, reaching over to the bed to stroke Jon’s hair. He’d been a tearful, angry mess, just past three years and furious at Viserys’s endless teasing with the old heirloom.

“He was very cross,” she agreed. “Has a temper on him.”

For some reason that made Ser Arthur chuckle. He glanced at the door, listened to the dull clicks of Ser Lewyn’s boots pacing back and forth outside, then dropped onto the end of the bed at Jon’s feet.

“He commanded me up there,” he admitted, almost proud. “Right before the assassin attacked Aegon.”

She wasn’t entirely surprised, though it was sooner than she’d expected.

“We knew it was inevitable.”

He nodded, watching Jon sleep. “It’s strange, you know, guarding princes, kings. With Rhaegar, he was already a man in most ways, so utterly serious. I never had a question of who was in charge, if every command was to be followed or simply the tantrum of a small child. With Jon, I’m just protecting his place until he realizes the power’s been his all along. Somehow, I’d begun to think he’d always be as he has been.”

Lyanna had never considered that before. Ser Arthur had always been a protector to her, but a jailer for a time, too. To Jon, he was a strange uncle until now. But she’d not thought of of their relationship much in terms of power.

“He’s going to be a handful as he strikes out on his own, isn’t he?”

“Was I any different?”

That made him smile a bit, a tinge of fondness and sadness in his voice.

“No, I suppose not.”

They were on the doorstep now, but picturing her baby as a man grown was still impossible. Every time she tried, she ended up picturing Ned or Brandon, even a less gaunt version of Benjen.

“He’ll be twice as wild with Dany at his side,” Lyanna assured him. “Those two together are wonderful trouble.”

He nodded, and stood sharply as the door opened. Ser Lewyn ducked his head in, the sky beyond already lightening to a murky gray.

“My Queen, Prince Oberyn requests an audience.”

She sat up in alarm, her hand tugging at Jon’s curls. He stirred and grumbled, rolled over toward Aegon. Ser Arthur looked to her.

“Allow him in.”

Ser Lewyn stepped in and held the door open wide. Prince Oberyn entered, dressed in his golden and orange cloak and surcoat, sword belted at his hip. It was his expression that Lyanna noticed first, not exactly apologetic, but far less suspicious and haughty. He nodded at Ser Lewyn who returned to his post outside the door.

“How are they?”

Despite his apparent change of heart, Lyanna still greeted him with suspicion. He’d never once searched her out for conversation.

“Well enough, considering.”

Oberyn nodded, stared at the two boys on the bed. He didn’t seem to quite know what to say or do.

“Lyanna—”

“Her Grace,” Ser Arthur corrected.

Oberyn’s face soured for a moment, but he didn’t argue. 

“Your Grace.” He paused and pursed his lips, eyes on Jon’s bruised neck. “It appears I was mistaken in my assessment of your son’s intentions toward my nephew.”

“A common mistake in the south, I’ve found.” But she did not move from Jon’s side, nor did Ser Arthur step aside. “Is that all?”

Oberyn seemed to be steeling himself for his next words, as though they took a great deal of strength to say.

“I owe your boy an apology,” he told her. “I won’t say it wrong to presume the worst of a younger brother to a crown prince, especially in this arrangement—”

“Jon would never—”

“Black or red, dragons are fire forevermore,” Oberyn cut in. His dark eyes glinted in the firelight. “Is it so impossible to imagine a repeat of the Blackfyre Rebellions? As if our histories don’t turn in the same endless circle?”

Lyanna grinded her teeth, but allowed him that. Some still living had made an end to the Blackfyres and their rebellions, Ser Barristan among them. However time skipped forward, certain things could not be forgotten, particularly if it pertained to the royal family.

“Jon is a Targaryen, not a Blackfyre.”

Oberyn took a moment before nodding. “And loyal to his brother, if the night’s events are true as they seem to be. I admit, my nephew’s safety is of the greatest importance, just as my sister’s and niece’s. It seemed logical to look at old wounds for new threats instead of elsewhere.”

“My choices are not Jon’s,” Lyanna reminded him. “However much the world wishes to burden him with them.”

“His legitimacy was never the issue.”

And Lyanna had known that. Oberyn’s bastard daughters had filled Sunspear’s halls with laughter and joy. They’d been leery of Jon at first, but unlike their father, they’d warmed to him and been friends by the end of their visit. In Dorne, bastardy had seemed like a myth instead of a burdensome reality. Whether or not they’d considered Jon such would not have persuaded Oberyn’s opinion. But Jon’s position as a younger brother, as a brother by a different woman, was always suspect.

_ We won’t let the world break them apart. _

Elia and her had promised each other that, for their sons and families and the realm. Another war was the last thing Westeros needed.

“It’s never been Jon you needed to worry about.”

But before she could elaborate there was another knock at the door. Maester Aemon stirred in his chair beside the fire, and bid their new guest enter. Ser Lewyn led the Old Bear in with Tyrion Lannister. Behind him in the doorway, his wrists chained, stood Ser Jaime. Just the sight of him made Lyanna tense. He’d done the realm a great service years ago, it was true and hidden to protect the crown, but Lyanna could not bring herself to trust him. A vow sworn and forsaken was difficult to forget. To know her son had intentionally been seeking him out last night was more troublesome.

“A quick breakfast in the feast hall, Your Grace, then we’ll go below,” Mormont told her with a rough bow. “I’ve men in the tunnel already, looking for any signs of the corpse.”

Or whatever would be left of the man’s body. She’d never seen a body fall from such a height, but she couldn’t imagine it stayed as it was meant to upon impact.

“Thank you, Lord Commander. We’ll be with you in a moment.”

All the men shuffled outside as she roused the boys. Aegon was easier, wincing at his bruised cheek. The cut had been deep enough to scar, but thankfully had missed his eye and nose. His whole left eye was blackening.

“Did they find him?”

“We’ll see after we break our fasts,” Lyanna told him. “Let’s change your bandages again. Aemon?”

He’d dozed off by the fire once more, but Aegon was happy to wake him and get his assistance. Jon was a harder sell, rolling away from her, then coughing violently when he tried to speak.

“Let’s see, love.” 

The snow and ice had all melted once more, his skin purpled and slightly swollen, damp from the water that leaked from the cloth. Jon grimaced and tried to talk.

“It doesn’t… it…”

“We’ll get you something to write with until the swelling goes down,” she said. Lyanna hugged him close and kissed the top of his head. “My brave, foolish boy. You’re likely to be the death of me if this is a preview of the future, you know that?”

His only answer was to hug her fiercely.

* * *

A fear she’d never experienced filled her as they passed beneath the Wall’s immense weight. Every second beneath it was dreadful, the boys beside her and oddly hushed. She gone below before, only a few years before, but knowing what they meant to find made her muscles freeze within her. With Jon unable to speak for the time being, Aegon seemed to have chosen silence as well. Robb had come along, and Loras, too, but their excited voices were strange to her ears.

The gates were opened for them, and a gust of wind whipped their cloaks about. It was warm today, far warmer than any other day she’d had this far north. But her heart couldn’t help but panic at what they might find. Writing to Elia and Rhaegar of the incident already had her stomach in knots. They were always suspicious of the chance of danger, but for Elia, to be so far away from her son, to know what had occurred and be unable to hold him…

Even for her, being right here with Jon, knowing what had almost happened, was sickening. And Rhaegar would hardly take the news better. Both sons injured as far away as was possible to be. Two princes attacked by an unknown assailant and if Jon’s memory was right, at the commands of their own blood.

“Look,” Robb called, pointing west along the Wall. “The snow’s bloody.”

They went that direction, guards fanning out around them for protection. Both Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn stayed close, hands on their sword pommels, eyes alert. The ground was soggy and muddy underfoot, a few stubborn patches of snow decorating the land in wide strips. Aegon’s attacker was a grotesque heap on the ground, his body contorted and some of his innards leaking from his guts. Lyanna gazed up toward the top, the Wall weeping in the morning sun.

“He never stood a chance.”

Mormont nodded. “They never do from that height, Your Grace.” He called back to the Night’s Watchmen at the gate. “Bring a horse and sled. Collect him as best you can.”

They stood aside as the men did what they could. Blood drenched the ground. A blackened hand was nearby, and what looked like a half deflated man with limbs at all sort of unnatural angles. The sights made her stomach turn, but there was little smell at least, not like she’d experienced the day her mother had died. Here, the cold was enough to slow the decay. Though not enough to keep the mush of blood and organs and bone that had spread around him.

“Jon?”

Aegon hurried after his brother, their sworn shields at their heels, toward another patch of snow and something glittering in the sunlight. Lyanna followed, Prince Oberyn and Tyrion Lannister with her. Jon was kneeling down in the mud and slush, the dragonbone dagger in hand. It was just as she remembered it, the handle black dragonbone, the steel whirled and nearly as dark. Blood had frozen to the blade as Ser Arthur took it from him to clean it.

“A fancy dagger for a man of the Night’s Watch,” Tyrion said. He glanced back at his brother, still guarded and chained at the wrists. “Far too unique even for a Lannister on the Wall.”

She didn’t say anything. Neither did Ser Arthur or Ser Lewyn. They’d all agreed not to spread theories of the true culprit until they could speak with Rhaegar and Elia on the matter.

_ Though how we’ll travel south from Winterfell with him in our midst and arrive safely, I haven’t a clue. _

Viserys was drunk most days, but no less armed and potentially lethal. Keeping the boys safe wouldn’t be easy, no matter how alert they were. Not with how they liked to wander, and with Jon beginning to strike out on his own.

“He was armed by someone else clearly,” Ser Arthur said as he tucked the dagger into his belt. 

“And likely paid as well.” Ser Lewyn glanced over at the men collecting the body. “Is his head and face of any use?”

It was. From what they could tell of his legs, the man had landed feet first, his shin bones splintering and tearing through skin and clothes alike. Lyanna would rather not have looked upon such a sight, but she forced herself to see it, to be there with Robb, Jon, Loras, and Aegon as they looked upon the would be assassin. He was more plain-faced than Ned, unwashed, half frozen now, his eyes bulging and dark, mouth open in a scream nobody had heard. She’d no recollection of him.

“If he’s one of ours, I don’t recognize him,” Mormont said, rolling the head from one side to the other. “We have a great number of men here, but I’ve always been good with faces and names. An imposter like as not.”

The other black brothers didn’t recognize him either. They were unchaining Ser Jaime, the truth clear to see now, when Tyrion called out.

“He left Casterly Rock with us,” he said. Lyanna turned to see him leaning over the man’s face in the sled, examining the teeth. “His nose seemed familiar, but his teeth I’d know anywhere. A servant in the stables. He came east to King’s Landing with us to tend the horses. I’ve no idea his name.”

“You know him?” Aegon seemed surprised. Unlike Jon, she didn’t think he’d ever seen the dagger before. “But if he came all this way with us, then why…”

“We’ll leave the sleuthing to the Council and your father,” Lyanna told him. “Is there a way to freeze the head and bring it south?”

“No,” Mormont said. “It’ll melt and rot long before it gets there, but I’ll see if Maester Aemon has any other ideas. Come, best we get back where we belong.”

Blood was still everywhere, puddled and streamed with the melting snow. The black brothers and Lannisters had already turned back to the tunnel, but Lyanna waited, eyes on Jon. He’d stopped a few feet behind, eyes on the distant tree line and the great jagged rock that had stolen his interest on their last visit.

“Jon, let’s go.”

He gave her a distressed look, and pointed at the rock, his voice coming out in a low, painful sounding rasp.

“Rock.”

Ser Arthur tried to turn him back to the tunnel. “We can come back out in a few days if you wish, my Prince. For now—”

Jon shook his head and pushed aside Ser Arthur’s guiding hands. Before they could stop him, he was heading for the rock, Ser Arthur following. Exasperated, Ser Lewyn grew his sword and took Aegon by his upper arm to keep him close. She went with them, Robb and Aegon hurrying after her son. The rock was just as last time, the ground around it muddy besides a great heap of greyish snow poking out from behind it.

Lyanna heard them before she saw them.

“It’s a wolf!” Robb shouted.

Jon was already kneeling down behind the great heap that turned out to be a direwolf, dead in the snow, her great yellow eyes open and sightless. At her belly was a small wriggling mass of pups, black and brown and gray.

“It’s dead, isn’t it?” Aegon gazed at it from afar. “How’d it get so close to the Wall?”

“It’s a freak,” Loras said. “Look at the size of it!”

“It’s a direwolf,” she told him. “The sigil of House Stark.”

Even she was intrigued enough to approach the pups. Robb had already bundled two up in his cloak, stroking their heads. They were newborn, their eyes still shut. Aegon went closer and picked up two more, smiling as they snuggled into his chest. Jon, however, had just the one, snow white and small. She could see no signs of wounds on the dead mother, just the blood of birth nearby.

“A bad sign,” Ser Arthur said, glancing at the treeline. “And this litter, they’re as good as dead out here with no mother. Come on, boys, it’s not pleasant, but better a quick death—”

“No.” Jon held his pup close and already Lyanna knew there was no point in arguing with him. Like it as not, they’d all die in a few days or weeks anyway. “He’s mine.”

“Jon, a direwolf isn’t a pet.”

He shook his head at her words, then handed the little brown one to her. “For Arya,” he managed to say, though he winced after each word.

“We’re keeping them,” Robb said. “We’re Starks, and they’re direwolves. Look, there’s one for Jon and me and the girls and even Bran and the baby.”

“Boys.” She wanted to argue, wanted to save them the heartache of watching the little pups fade to death, but they were both so earnest, she couldn’ bring herself to do it. Against her chest, the little brown one wriggled into her warmth, and Lyanna wrapped her cloak around it. She stroked the little pup’s snout and head.

_ Are you a sign from the old gods or a quirk of more death? _

She couldn’t say, but abandoning them to a cold death out here, or a quick one by blade seemed cruel. 

“They’re  _ your _ responsibility. You understand? I won’t have the Night’s Watch looking after them for you. And if Ned decides against them, his word is final.”

“He won’t,” Robb told her, beaming from ear to ear. “Quick, let’s get them back to the castle so we can feed and warm them properly.”

Both Ser Lewyn and Ser Arthur seemed annoyed at the decision, but they gathered a pair of pups each into their arms and made their way back to the tunnel. Jon stuck to her side, still holding the white one. When she looked down at him, she was surprised to find his eyes open and bright red.

“An albino,” Lyanna said to Jon. “That means he’s very special. We’ll have to take extra care of him.”

They were back at the gate, the bars lowering behind them when Jon stopped again. He gazed out at the openness between them and the treeline. The Night’s Watch was already deeper into the tunnel. A prickle ran down Lyanna’s spine. She couldn’t explain it, perhaps never would, but her heart seemed to freeze inside her. She fell as vast and small as a lake frozen down to its depths. The gate clanked shut, and a great rush of cold hit all of them. Snowflakes whipped up in the air and began to fall in earnest.

“Weather changes fast up here, doesn’t it?” Tyrion said wrapping his cloak higher around his neck. “How any of you stand it—”

A howl pierced the biting air. Jon stepped right to the gate, eyes fixed on the forest. Lyanna looked from him to the forest, a spot just between two pine trees. Perhaps it was the wind stirring the branches, but the wind had never before moved in such a way. Something glittered in a hue of colors, seemed to be the very air itself shifting and solid amongst the low branches. 

Jon stared and stared, and didn’t even blink when the direwolf they’d seen dead upon the ground moments before came charging toward the gate. The rest of their party leapt backwards in alarm, the men drawing their blades. Jon had stepped out of range, but he’d not even flinched. The direwolf’s teeth gnawed at the iron bars. Shrieks and howls filled the tunnel. Everyone hesitated as she tried to claw her way inside, snarling and drooling, her eyes the brightest blue. Death was in her gaze.

Cold so fierce it threatened to choke Lyanna spread down te tunnel. The men surged forward, with swords and spears, to stab the direwolf, but it did nothing. She continued to savage the bars, howling and snapping her teeth wherever she could get her snout through. A dozen blades had pierced her and she’d shown no sign of pain or interest.

Lyana stumbled away, fear and dread like a sickness within her.

A second later, Jon had wrenched a torch from the tunnel wall and shoved it through the bars. She went up in flames, writhing and screaming, stumbling away into the cold. A moment later her body fell on its side, burning.

_ Let it burn, let it turn to ash and never return. _

* * *

Another sleepless night passed before Ned and Benjen returned from their surveying of the nearby castles. Jon and Aegon and Robb had all piled into the same bed in her chambers, the six pups with them. They’d had far too much fun tending to them. So far, they seemed healthy, and after the tunnel and the sight of what their mother had turned to, Lyanna hoped they lived to see adulthood. That they might serve as extra protection for her family instead of a curse.

Mormont had been somewhat skeptical at first. He’d already been halfway through the tunnel, had come running back at the screams and howls. The sight of the burning wolf, and her own words, had been enough to convince him. Like Ser Arthur and Ser Lewyn, however, he’d wanted to rid themselves of the pups at once.

Benjen and Ned took a similar stance at first, too.

“They’ll be ripping mens arms off in a matter of months,” Ned said. He and Benjen had joined her in her chambers, watching the boys sleep upon the great bed with the little pups. “I’m sorry, Lya, but direwolf pups have no place—”

“They’re our sigil,” Benjen cut in, voice soft. “A gift from the old gods certainly, if the Others have returned. You can feel them up here, and north of the Wall especially. This is the home where they still reign.”

“The Others or the gods?”

“Both.” Benjen went over and carefully scooped up the little black one. “Four males and two females you said?”

Lyana nodded. “Robb and Jon think it a sign, too. That they were meant to have them, and I can’t disagree, Ned. Not after what we saw.”

“And I won’t be made to tend to a pack of wild direwolf pups. Nor leave the people at Winterfell at their mercy if they aren’t trained well.” He shook his head, as glum and grim as ever. “They’ll train them and feed them and bury them if it comes to that. I’ll have no hand in it.”

Benjen stroked the black one's head and smiled as it gave several little growls.

“You’ll have to if one of these goes to Rickon,” Benjen said. “I can't imagine a newborn can train a direwolf.”

Ned’s frown only deepened. Benjen put the pup back where it had been snuggled into Aegon’s chest and his smile faded, too.

“Her eyes changed, you said?”

“The most terrible blue,” Lyanna said. “They were yellow when we found them, and utterly lifeless. We think the birth killed her, that she bled out in the snow.”

Her brothers nodded, and both looked over at Jon.

“Dragon dreams are said to be prophetic.” Ned scratched his bearded chin. “They’ve been warning us all along, Jon and Daenerys, seeing things that will be, that are, but too young to explain it.”

“Too young for us to believe,” Benjen added.

And Lyanna had no qualms with that truth. Rhaegar would be beside himself with self-loathing and perhaps even further denial of what had seemed so clear to her. At first, Jon’s dreams had been a jumbled horror for her. But all these years later, with him able to explain and her asking the right questions, she knew what he’d been seeing. She’d hoped he was wrong, perhaps a warning for the distant future of House Targaryen, but the direwolf had shown her otherwise.

“We should leave in the morning,” Ned said. “We only have a few days left and with this news, the king needs to know.”

“And of the assassin, too.” In wake of the wight direwolf, the assassination attempt had been pushed right from the forefront. In some ways, Lyanna was grateful for that. Eyes elsewhere meant they had a better chance to discover the culprit, to get the news south quietly. “I’ll pack our things, and have the boys ready in the morning.”

“And the pups?” Ned gave them a glance. “They won’t travel well.”

“It’s past time that carriage had some meaningful use.”

* * *

The pups were squealing as they were packed into the old wheelhouse they’d brought north. All but the white one that Jon had already named Ghost. As they were tucked into the warmth with furs and blankets and the boys, Lyanna scanned the courtyard for one man in particular.

Ser Lewyn followed her over to him.

“I wanted to thank you, Ser Jaime,” she said before he could speak or dart away. “For protecting the boys atop the Wall.”

He was still a beautiful man, golden-haired, chiseled jaw. In many ways, he looked as much a king as Rhaegar—except for the ugly snarl.

“Old habits, I suppose. Perhaps next time I’ll run them through with my blade like their grandfather.”

She didn’t answer his contemptuous anger, didn’t quite know what to say or how far to trust him. Atop the Wall, it may simply have been an instinct to not let someone fall. To protect his own skin, knowing he would be blamed if the worst had happened in his presence.

_ And he was blamed at first anyway _ .

“You’ve done the realm a great service—”

“Keep your kind words, they’ve never done good for anyone up here.”

He disappeared into one of the buildings, leaving his men behind in the yard for their daily training. Lyanna went back to the wheelhouse and joined the boys inside. They were having far too much fun with the pups buried under the heaps of furs.

“Don’t get too attached to all of them,” Lyanna reminded Jon, Aegon, and Loras. “Only Ghost is coming south with us.”

It did nothing to deter them, however. They rode out of Castle Black to the little whimpery howls of the pups, and the louder imitations of Loras and Robb. Ghost was stubbornly mute. Jon tried to join in, but his throat was still too raw. He settled in to feed him instead, and Aegon did the same for the black one. 

“They’re very sweet, aren’t they?” Aegon said, smiling as it latched onto the towel they’d been soaking in warm milk. “Balerion is going to hate them.”

“I’m sure he’ll give them a proper greeting with his claws.”

“He won’t with Ghost,” Jon said, raspy and sounding as though he’d been sick for a fortnight. “They’ll be best friends, you wait.”

Ned joined them later in the day, as they stopped for the night to make camp. A burst of cold and snowy flurries came in with him, then lost to the suffocating heat of the carriage.

“Gods, how can you stand this warmth?”

Lyanna smiled, nursing one of the brown ones. The boys had fallen asleep to the sway of the carriage, all but Aegon who was up again and feeding the black pup.

“I imagine I’d say something similar if I stepped outside right now.”

Ned eyed the pup in her arms. “They’re supposed to be doing that.”

“They’ll each be doing it for their own wolf once we’re back at Winterfell. And you ought to learn how to do this as well, seeing as Rickon—”

“He’s months old, Lya. A few years from now, perhaps, but a babe has no use for a direwolf pup.” Her brother gazed over at Aegon, feeding the black. “And I have no time to tend to it for him until then.”

“He might have been left with Benjen then, he could have a nicer life roaming the north with the Watch’s First Ranger.”

“Or in the south with you,” Ned said, and Lyanna wasn’t surprised by the offering. She’d been expecting it since Ned had first seen them. “You’re as much a wolf as any of us.”

“And I have little use for a wolf, too. Some in the south might see the younger, second queen with a direwolf as a threat, Ned. You know that as well as I.”

He didn’t argue, but he clearly didn’t like her answer.

“Perhaps, Robb can take him, too,” Lyanna said. “Raise him with his own until Rickon is old enough.”

Ned glowered at her. “An eleven-year-old with two direwolves?”

They said nothing else for a time as Lyanna rotated to the other female to feed. Aegon had finished with the black one, holding it close and laughing as it licked at his chin. She’d told them not to grow so attached, but it was impossible not to when they were so small and sweet. And Aegon adored them. He’d taken turns with all six, even Ghost. Had fed them and cleaned them, stimulated them to urinate and been right beside Jon and Robb in the thick of the fur heap.

“He seems to like you,” Ned said to Aegon, watching the little black pup settle against his chest to sleep. 

“They like anyone warm,” Aegon told him, but he was smiling at the pup in his arms. His face had bruised some around the stitches, but he didn’t seem bothered with the pups around. “Last night, he tried to sleep on my face.”

“Aye, they do that this small, they’re used to piling on top of each other.” Ned considered him carefully. “You should take him south, the black one. Give Ghost a brother so he’s not alone down there.”

Aegon’s mouth fell open. “But I’m not a Stark. If the old gods sent them for—”

“I can’t imagine they sent one for a newborn,” Ned said. “And you may not have our name or blood, but you’re Jon’s brother. That’s good enough for me to call you nephew.”

And there was wisdom in it, Lyanna could see it clearly. As true as it was for her to take one and be seen as a threat, it was doubly true for Jon. Aegon having his own would lessen the whispers and splinters that were already in motion amongst the realm to take sides if needed some day.

“Mother won’t—”

“If she let Rhaenys keep Balerion, I’m sure she’ll allow you this.” Lyanna touched his injured cheek. “He’s yours if you wish, Aegon. A friend and protection for what’s to come.”

He considered the pup in his arms, bit his lip and glanced at Jon and Robb asleep with the rest.

“But won’t Rickon be left out? Once he’s older, and his brothers and sisters all have wolves and he doesn’t, he won’t like that.”

Ned gave her a look that was half-admired at Aegon’s consideration, and half-exasperated. But he had an answer.

“Like it as not, having four at Winterfell will eventually yield more. He can have one of those.”

“They won’t like the south much, King’s Landing is much warmer than what they’re used to up here. And the city is so loud, too.”

“Well, you’ll be there only a short while before taking your seat at Dragonstone,” Lyanna reminded him. “That’s not much further off, perhaps Jon and Ghost can go with you.”

That was enough to convince Aegon. He slid back to the others, the pup cradled against his chest. Ned put his arm around her when she leaned into his side.

“Planning on starting a direwolf farm, are we?”

“I hope not.” He frowned and watched the boys and pups. “We won’t have the space for four. And the hounds and horses will be terrified of them.”

“Half the court will be, too.”

That got a smile from him. “Gods, what I would give to see the look on Baelish’s face when he catches sight of them.”

She grinned at that, too, but it did not last. Returning south was taking too long already. So much had happened, and Rhaegar and Elia were clueless to it all still. Rhaella needed to know, too. To be alert and more cautious with Daenerys. And the sights beyond the Wall, the direwolf with eyes of brightest blue…

_ They’ll know soon enough, but first we need to survive the trip home with Viserys in tow. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to head back to King's Laaanding, and reunite all the Targs. Up next is either Rhaegar or Dany, I can't remember which, but I may also not remember because I think it could go either way.
> 
> So stay safe (and warm, it's snowing here, yaaaaas), kick a fascist in the ass, wear a mask, etc. etc.
> 
> We update when we update going forward, haha. Train's still moving just not at the same pace as usual. (And I'll update Winter's Phoenix next, so when that updates, then it'll shift to this being the next update).
> 
> Ciao!


	19. RHAEGAR III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaaaack, and with far too many new hobbies and the mental woes of pandemic life.
> 
> Here's a chapter, here's a Rhaegar, enjoy!

“It all sounds preposterous.”

He could think of nothing else to say after his sons and second wife’s arrival late in the afternoon. Between the direwolf pups that had come bounding through the gates, paws and snouts caked in mud, and the tales the group had brought from the North, Rhaegar’s day had been turned upside down. An assassination attempt, both sons in danger and injured though not grievously so. The dagger Ser Arthur had shown him as the culprit, and the suspicions just the sight of it raised had been enough to make his stomach turn. But for wights and death and the gods only knew what else to be stirring north of the Wall, for his prophecy-driven fantasies to perhaps be reality all these years later…

“Preposterous because you did not see it yourself or because you would rather not step down that path once more?”

His mother was seated beside the fire in his chambers, adding a few final touches to Rhaenys’s wedding cloak. It was a beautiful garment that she and Elia had been stitching for nearly a year, weaving in Martell and Targaryen colors, sunbursts and dragons, and the golden roses of her soon to be husband’s house. Willas Tyrell was set to return with a whole parade of Tyrells and wagons in two moons, just in time for the wedding. Rhaenys, however, was determined still to run him through with her spear.

_ Her wedding alone was too much to juggle, but this… _

“That path nearly cost us everything, Mother,” he told her. 

“Or perhaps it has led our family to just where we need to be.” She held the cloak up to examine her work, sighed and went back to the same spot. “I do hope she at least appreciates this cloak and all of our work, however she despises the poor boy.”

“She doesn’t hate him,” Rhaegar said, “just the idea of marriage in general.”

But it was time for a royal wedding, to begin pushing his children forward into the realm to secure the crown. Willas would not push her, had discussed his understanding of her willful nature with him directly. 

He’d hoped Lord Tywin might find Viserys a suitable match while at Casterly Rock, but nothing had come from it. Nothing positive at any rate. His brother was a continuous burden, and now, it seemed a potential enemy within their own walls. As if the court hadn’t been enough.

Rhaella hesitated. “He does not seem the type to force himself upon her.”

“No, he’s not. His consideration, mind, and general kindness were reason enough for me to agree to the match. The Tyrells may not be the oldest family, but they yield a great amount of power nevertheless. And if… when winter comes, we’ll need their stores on our side it seems.”

She nodded, stitching slowly. “We have time enough to think on that, and some of us already have been for years with Jon and Daenerys’s dreams. But this catspaw on the Wall seems more pressing.”

He’d seen the evidence before hearing the story. While Jon’s neck had healed on the journey south, Aegon’s cheek had been scabbed over in a narrow, curved swipe. The scar might serve him well in years to come, give a warrior’s face to his more gentle nature, but for it to have happened at all was alarming.

“The court will already be whispering as if the Starks are to blame for it.” Rhaegar frowned and leaned his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. “No matter what, they’ll always look to Jon for any harm. And in these circumstances…”

“Historically, it would make sense,” Rhaella reminded him. “A heir to the throne, in his half-brother’s mother’s homeland, harmed by an unknown assassin. It’s only logically for them to look that direction. Elia is hoping to convince Oberyn to remain in the capital for a time, to help blunt those whispers.”

He nodded. “He’s despised Jon quite openly before now. Seeing his change of heart may be of some help.” Rhaegar considered her for a moment, touched the dragonbone dagger where it was hooked to his belt and out of sight under his cloak. So far, they had not told Rhaella of its specifics, of who they believed was the catspaw’s funder. Even hours later, Rhaegar found it a near impossibility to think Viserys could be so ruthless and bold. How could his own brother, who’d once hung on his arm and every word turn against his own blood?

But it was a family heirloom, a dagger that he had gifted to Viserys on his eleventh nameday. At the time, he’d hoped it would entice Viserys to commit more humbly to his studies and the training yard. None of that had come to pass. Everything Viserys was handed was another stone on the stack of his entitlement.

“They found the assassin’s dagger with the body, Mother.” He unhooked it from his belt and held it out for her. “Dragonbone and Valyrian steel. It’s the only one of its kind.”

And he didn’t say it outright. Too many servants and guards and chambermaids were still milling around the castle, in their side chambers and hidden entrances doing their last tasks before bed. If these past few years had taught him anything, it was how many little birds Varys employed—and how many others were ears for people not reporting to the Small Council.

Her face went to stone as she took it by the handle and set the cloak down. For a few moments, Rhaella’s jaw worked furiously.

“This…” She glanced at the doorway, too. “It cannot be..”

Never before had he seen his mother shrivel up in such a way, but the sight of the dagger—the knowledge of who’s it was—clearly unsettled her. She set the wedding cloak aside and paced the room, checking the attached bedchamber, the privy, the servant’s entry concealed in the wall, and then the balcony to which he followed her. A cool night had settled over the bay, the air light and salty. She set the dagger on the balcony’s ledge and examined it in the weak moonlight.

“Viserys is a great many things, Rhaegar, but your brother…  _ my son _ would never—”

“He’s not a boy anymore,” Rhaegar reminded her. “Viserys is a man grown, a jealous, spiteful, arrogant one at that. Or so that was Lyanna’s analysis after their trip. He spent most of the journey in his cups, spewing vile words and berating  _ my _ sons _. _ I don’t wish to think he would, but—”

“Then don’t.” She sheathed the dagger, hands trembling. “Not yet. I couldn’t bear it if… whatever he’s become, whoever he finds himself to be in this life, he will always be my little boy. Just as you are. As Daenerys will always be my sweetest babe.”

He said nothing more on the matter, just placed an arm around her shoulders to hug her to his side. If given the choice, Rhaegar would rather not believe any of the news he’d heard today. But as much as he tried to set aside their dreams, all the warning signs of Viserys’s temperament and attitude, they’d both been right in front of his face for too many years.

_ And for too many I’ve ignored it, hoped it would change, pushed myself as far as I could in the opposite direction, not realizing both sides were a cliff. _

Both matters were so urgent; both had a hundred needs, dozens of bits of knowledge to acquire. All with Rhaenys’s wedding months away. Juggling the court and his daughter, his wives and sons and sister had been difficult enough. Part of him had hoped Viserys could step in, serve a purpose so long as he remained unwed and in King’s Landing, but that was impossible now.

He escorted Rhaella to her chambers for the night, checked on Daenerys and Rhaenys, then Aegon, who was sleeping soundly with Elia in his great bed. She’d hardly left his side since he’d arrived. The black pup was asleep on his chest, though it perked its head up when Rhaegar peered in and growled.

“Easy, boy,” he told it, but its green eyes narrowed.

Rhaegar shut the door before it could charge him, still not sure what to make of the pups. Hearing the tale of finding them, of Lyanna’s belief that the old gods had sent them for the Starks had been easy enough to accept. And even Jon having one of his own was fitting. But the sight of Aegon with a direwolf unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain. Prince Oberyn had seemed in agreement with it, and Rhaegar could certainly see the benefits to Aegon’s safety as it grew, and yet…

He rolled his shoulders, unsettled.

_ Direwolves are for Starks, not Targaryens. _

When he turned around, he stumbled right into little Ghost, and ended up on the stone floor. The white wolf was on him at once, fresh from a bath and still damp. Jon’s stern voice scolded him from down the hall.

“No, Ghost, I said  _ stay! _ ”

The wolf had other ideas. He climbed onto Rhaegar’s chest, sniffing and nudging, his tail swinging through the air. Next to Aegon’s Nightfyre he was positively friendly. 

“Sorry,” Jon said, and he took the little pup by the scruff and made him sit. “He’s still learning that command, Father.”

“And much cleaner than earlier, though silent as a crypt,” Rhaegar muttered. He dusted himself off and stood. Ghost hadn’t made a sound all day despite Nightfyre’s high-pitched attempts at howling. “Your mother said he’s not so much as whined, even when he nurses.”

Jon beamed at that, rubbed the pup’s damp furry head with a towel. “That’s why I named him Ghost. He never makes a sound, not even when he raises his head to try to howl with Nightfyre.”

“He may yet grow into his voice,” Rhaegar said, but he had his doubts. An albino direwolf was bound to have issues of one sort or another, not unlike white cats had a tendency to be deaf. In some ways, the characteristic reminded him of both his sons. “Some things simply take time.”

Jon didn’t seem to mind either way. He told the pup to sit, and Ghost did so at once, tongue lolling.

“He listens well enough at least.” Rhaegar reached down and gave him a few pats. “Off to bed, Jon. The Small Council won’t wait for any later risers.”

“Yes, Father.” Jon gave him a quick hug around his waist, then clicked his fingers at Ghost. “Come on, boy!”

Rhaegar watched them disappear down the length of the corridor, right past Jon’s bedchamber door and into Daenerys’s rooms. He almost went to stop them, but knowing what he knew now, it seemed impossibly foolish to keep them apart. Marriage may still change that, but more and more he faltered on what exactly to do with either of them. Wed to one another, the crown would be weaker, but Jon’s status more secure. Wed to other people, the crown’s strength would grow if he found the right matches, but if Viserys was the culprit behind the assassination attempt… if he was vying for the crown, trying to eliminate Aegon, and challenge Jon’s position…

_ Have I done more harm than good all over again? _

* * *

Lord Arryn met him for a private breakfast where Rhaegar filled him in on all the details from the day before. His Hand was very quiet as he listened, especially to the tales of death beyond the Wall.

“She’s quite certain it was dead?”

Rhaegar nodded, and said with force, “Ser Arthur, Ser Lewyn, Prince Oberyn and my sons swear to it. I can find no reason to doubt so many. Not with something so serious.”

Lord Arryn stirred his porridge, thinking. “A direwolf is a terrible beast, Your Grace, and I don’t mean to doubt your family—”

“But you do.” Rhaegar set his fork down. “I can’t imagine a direwolf capable of such deception nor the ability to change its own eye color.”

That seemed to at least put a momentary end to Lord Arryn’s skepticism. 

“No, neither can I. Did Lord Commander Mormont ask for additional aid?”

“Lyanna gave me his letter yesterday,” Rhaegar said. “With all else they had to say about the catspaw, I haven’t yet read it.”

“We’ll discuss it with the Council. Surely, we can provide enough resources for Castle Black to discover the source of such unpleasantness.” Lord Arryn took a sip of his drink and cleared his throat. And it was with slight annoyance that Rhaegar let that go for now. Down here in the south, with summer warming their faces, it was difficult to picture what the far north had seen. “The catspaw, however, needs immediate investigation. If Lord Tyrion's memory is honest, then he came from Casterly Rock.”

Rhaegar nodded, and with a glance to make sure the servants had left the room, he set the dragonbone dagger on the table between them. Lord Arryn stilled at once.

“They found this the next morning, out in the snow where the body had fallen. Jon recognized it at once. He had a number of fits about not being allowed to hold it as a small boy.”

With a glance for permission, Lord Arryn picked it up by the handle and examined it. “One of a kind, far too unique for a stablehand. But surely—”

“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.” Rhaegar took the dagger back and tucked it into his belt where it would be out of sight so long as he kept his cloak on. “And I intend to know how our spymaster could have missed such a plot when his little birds flutter all across the realm.”

Lord Arryn scowled, but he was intelligent enough not to speak Viserys’s name. “It was never wise to trust a eunuch, Your Grace. Your father made the same error, and no doubt he’s still playing his own games, for whatever ends he wishes to design for himself.”

The door opened and his sons rushed in, their direwolf pups at their heels. Ghost took several laps of the room, but Nightfyre kept to Aegon’s side, growling.

“No, boy, it’s just Father and Lord Arryn. See?”

He hugged Rhaegar, then offered his hand to Lord Arryn to shake. The black wolf snorted, glared at the three of them, then went to join his brother in sniffing around the serving cart still littered with a few hunks of bacon and brown bread.

“Direwolves in the Red Keep,” Lord Arryn muttered, shaking his head. “I’d have thought it of Ned, perhaps, but I suppose its less dangerous than dragons.” He stood. “I’ll summon the Small Council for a meeting, Your Grace.”

He left Rhaegar with the boys, who were both too busy with their wolves to notice. For a few minutes, he simply watched them play, happy and bright, attempting to train the pups to sit with bacon. Both Ghost and Nightfyre had no interest in commands right then with the seared meat in reach. They took it from the boys with ease, then had a quick fight for the final piece that Ghost scarfed down. Despite the near fatal encounter atop the Wall, his sons were as carefree as ever An ache filled his chest to realize he’d nearly lost them both.

At the doorway, Ser Arthur stood silent and expressionless. Rhaegar motioned him to the table, lowered his voice.

“You said Ser Jaime slayed him?”

Arthur nodded, his mask slipping for a second. “Robb and Loras had gotten up to mischief, stolen a black brother’s spear, and Jon…”

“Commanded you, yes.” A burst of warm pride flooded his chest. It was past time the boys took charge of the sworn shields meant to serve them. “I want you at the table when we meet. As much as I wish Lyanna’s words or the boys to be enough, I know it won’t be for most of them. Not for what you saw beyond the Wall.”

Ser Arthur nodded, took a step back toward the door. “Jon knew exactly what to do, Your Grace. Our swords did nothing, but he didn’t hesitate to grab the nearest torch and set it ablaze.”

_ No, he wouldn’t have. Not with all the dreams he’s had, with how normal such a scenario is to him already. _

“He’s smart and capable,” Rhaegar said, and gave a wave of dismissal. 

Corralling the boys and the wolves out of the dining chamber and to the Small Council meeting proved difficult. They were all far too many quick legs, too much energy, and not enough ears. When Ser Arthur tried to take Jon by his collar to hold him back, Ghost latched onto his white cape and ripped a wide strip off the bottom.

“Sorry! He doesn’t understand yet, that’s all!”

But unless Rhaegar was mistaken, the pup’s red eyes were quite pleased with his actions.

His council had already arrived, seated around the old mahogany table, the legs carved into roaring dragons. Grandmaester Pycelle looked asleep in his chair, chin drooping to his chest, though he roused when Nightfyre gave a high-pitched howl. The boys took their usual seats at the far end, trying and failing to get their pups to listen. Nightfyre took one look at Lord Baelish and growled.

For a moment, Rhaegar enjoyed the sight of the slimy little man’s hesitation and fear. Lord Arryn had presented him as a replacement for Lord Tyrell several years ago, and although he’d proven capable of his tasks, his general person and remarks were a blight on the whole council. Some enough, Lord Willas would replace him. Rhaegar longed for that day to arrive soon, however, much his daughter didn’t.

“Wolves now, Your Grace? Surely, little Balerion was enough.”

Ghost bared his teeth at Baelish, too.

“Boys, keep them in hand or they’ll be sent back to your chambers.”

Jon had a far easier time of it than Aegon. The black pup seemed quite determined not to listen. It took Jon and Ghost’s help to get him calmed and resting under the window with his brother.

The rest of his council seemed unnerved by the pups. Lord Varys watched them in silence, Baelish was tugging at his collar, and Maester Pycelle was frowning. Even Lord Stannis was less stern at the sight of them. Lord Velaryon was the only one eyeing them with interest.

“Wolves seem a bit much, Your Grace,” Pycelle ventured, stroking his thinning beard. “They’re a danger to us all.”

“Protection for the princes,” Lord Velaryon countered, scratching his chin. “So long as they’re trained well.”

Pycelle blew out a gruff, rude breath. “Preposterous. Direwolves cannot be tamed nor trained. They’d be better off slayed.”

Jon spoke up before Rhaegar could even form a reply. “You will not. Or you’ll find our swords upon you.”

That made Ser Gerold smile from his seat, and Lord Varys tittered. Baelish seemed to have found his lecherous voice once more, his expression smarmy and amused.

“Perhaps we’ll let all the children ride them at the next tourney, charge five gold dragons a head.”

Lord Stannis’s stern face turned to their Master of Coin. “I would expect better ideas of income revenue than direwolf rides. These beasts would sooner have your throat than attend the crown’s finances.”

“Whatever your thoughts, the pups stay,” Rhaegar cut in, and that put an end to the conversation. “We have far more pressing matters at hand between the catspaw and the sights and news from beyond the Wall.”

Jon sat up at once, alert in a way he normally wasn’t. Perhaps he’d been expecting the Wall’s sudden plight to be swept under the rug, to be as ignored as his dreams and Daenerys’s had been for so many years. Rhaegar met his eyes, made a note to talk and apologize later, then dove in.

He and Ser Arthur explained the whole tale, with some input from Aegon and Jon on what had happened that night and morning. It was clear at once that all the focus turned to the catspaw. Both Baelish and Varys had been entirely quiet for the tales of the wight direwolf. Maester Pycelle had scoffed despite Ser Arthur’s words.

Somehow, their reactions didn’t surprise Rhaegar. All his years of believing in prophecy, of obsessing over who was their promised prince and what he needed to do to ensure their victory had shown him how little the south cared for such ideas. It was the North’s problem to bear, if it were ever a problem at all. Convincing any of them would not be easy.

“You said Lord Tyrion recognized his face?”

“Yes,” Rhaegar said to Pycelle. “And while I consider the catspaw’s origins of great importance, I think the news beyond the Wall should be our first discussion. Lord Commander Mormont has requested aid to discover the source of the wight, if the Others have in fact returned, or if the wildlings have created some new nuisance.”

The old maester gave a sleepy snorty. For the first time since he was a boy, Rhaegar wished his old uncle had come to the Red Keep as Grandmaester instead of disappearing to the Wall.

“Old fairy tales,” Maester Pycelle muttered in his wavering old voice. “Magic was shrunk and fled from the world these last few centuries, all but gone when the last dragons died off. A rabid direwolf perhaps, nothing to concern ourselves over.”

Rhaegar glanced at the boys and did his best to convince them of silence instead of shouting and arguing. Neither of them looked pleased by the dismissal to all they’d seen.

“Whatever your personal views may be, I have heard the same recounting from two members of our kingsguard, one of my wifes, my good brother Prince Oberyn, and both of our princes. I will not sit idle if the Others have returned. The threat of this catspaw is in the open now, all that needs be done is find the source and prevent a recurrence. The Others are another matter entirely. One we have little understanding of and no idea of the resources required.”

“Some magic dust perhaps,” Baelish said slyly, and to Rhaegar’s further annoyance, many of his council smiled at the jest. “If what they say is true, there’s little we can do to change or stop it. Without dragons, what good are we to winter’s fabled terrors?”

And while each word was drenched in Baelish’s biting sarcasm, Rhaegar felt the echo of his words in his own thoughts nevertheless. With dragons, they would not need to worry. Not if they’d had the numbers their family had once yielded. But the dragons were gone. Even his own sons had found replacements for that part of their Targaryen heritage. He glanced over at the pups napping in a patch of sun.

“Regardless of whatever beasts we possess, preparations and discussions need to be had,” Rhaegar said, his eyes fixed on Baelish. “And whatever jokes you think up next, do us all the favor of keeping them locked in your head, Lord Baelish.”

That ended the smiles, the amused glints in their eyes. Lord Arryn cleared his throat uncomfortably and gestured for the dagger. Rhaegar hesitated a second before revealing it for the council. Part of him wished to have kept it secret, but such a thing would have proven impossible. The Red Keep had far too many eyes and ears playing for too many scheming lords and ladies.

“This was the dagger found with the catspaw,” he told them, setting it in the center of the table. Lord Stannis picked it up at once. “An old family heirloom.”

“And a gift many years ago to Prince Viserys, was it not?” Lord Velaryon squinted at it as Lord Stannis passed it to him. “Yes, I recall it. A beautiful piece, Your Grace. Valyrian steel is so rare these days.”

“You think your brother responsible?” Ser Gerold took it next, the blade deftly handled in his rough hands. “I cleaned it myself before you left for his nameday. It had been in storage for so many years. Was he at the Wall?”

“No.” Rhaegar watched it go from hand to hand, eyeing their expressions, looking for anything unusual, but not even Varys’s face was out of the ordinary. “Viserys stayed behind at Winterfell.”

“Still, it would be simple enough to pass it off to the catspaw,” Lord Arryn said. “If Lord Tyrion’s memory is correct, the man came with them from Casterly Rock. An easy thing, to convince him on the road east and north to do what he attempted.”

Murmurs filled the room as the dagger was passed back and forth. Lord Varys took the longest, examining the entire blade from the dragonbone handle to its sharp tip.

“How is it your little birds did not pick up on such whispers?”

Varys hummed and set the dagger back on the top. “Even little birds cover only so much ground,Your Grace. Though those little wings that made their way north were rarely in our Prince’s company. As I understand it, he was quite in his cups the entire journey.”

Varys’s dark eyes turned to the boys, who both nodded. “What else did you see?”

Jon’s only answer was a shrug. Aegon, however, sat up taller before speaking.

“He kept making sure we were near him, the whole way North,” he told them. “Everytime Jon and I wandered off to ride with someone else, Uncle Viserys would have a big fit about us being out of his presence.”

“Did he now?” Lord Stannis’s stern expression deepened until he looked made of stone. “A chance to place you front and center so his catspaw could know exactly who you are. Or—”

“Just Viserys being self-absorbed.” Jon frowned at the table and crossed his arms. “He wasn’t any different than he used to be on Dragonstone. Just more drunk.”

Rhaegar watched his sons glance at one another, and whatever that look said, made them both fall silent. Neither of them would say more then. He turned back to the council, from face to face, and finally to the strange silence that had been Lord Baelish. He couldn’t fathom the man having the power to be involved in such a scheme, but he’d never fully trusted him either.

“Lord Varys, see what you can unearth. You’ve failed me once already in this element, nearly cost me my sons. I won’t accept the same again. The rest of you are to focus on the Wall’s preparations. Maester Pycelle, give me all the information you can on the Long Night, and send a raven to the Citadel informing them of what’s occurred. I want a full accounting of our ships, stores and grain, our coin, and our able-bodied men of fighting age. And if you happen upon any whispers regarding the catspaw, I expect to be informed immediately.”

He dismissed them with a hand wave. Everyone filed out with bows and a few backward glances. Finally, it was just him, his sons, and their three kingsguard. Ser Arthur shut the door to the hall.

“They think I’ve gone mad.”

“More like missed the first step down the staircase towards it.” Ser Gerold sighed and stood. “Whatever the case, we are with you. The Wall has stood for thousands of years. Surely it will be an advantage as last time.”

“It wasn’t there last time. They build it after the Long Night,” Rhaegar told him. He rubbed his temples. “I never thought to have to go back to this, and the catspaw as well, and Viserys…”

Every detail was too much to take in. His own brother surely wouldn’t and yet, who else made sense? Who would even benefit from framing Viserys, murdering Aegon, and placing Jon on the throne after him?

“Whoever did it wants war,” Ser Arthur said. “If Aegon had not survived, Viserys could press his claim, and I’ve no doubts many in the realm would back him.”

Rhaegar glanced at Jon, back on the floor with Ghost, Aegon, and Nightfyre. Jon hadn’t heard their discussion, but even Rhaegar was not unaware of Jon’s standing. Try as he might to place Jon on the same level as his siblings, and try as he might to punish those who spoke falsely about Jon’s legitimacy, he could not convince everyone with simple force and fear. Jon’s character alone would some day need to be stronger than their words. Enough to change their minds if the worst should happen.

But it was easy enough to see the potential conflict Aegon’s assassination could have created. Jon was a boy, one half the realm considered a bastard whatever they might say to their faces. Yet Viserys was proving to be a drunken fool. That was far worse for a king.

_ But far easier for a plotting lord to control and use if they managed to place him on the throne. _

“It’s the last thing we need with the wight seen at the Wall.”

“We have to deal with it nevertheless,” Ser Gerold said. “And Viserys… it doesn’t sit right. Fool he may be, but he’s never been bold. Not the daring sort of bold this would require, using his own distinct dagger is too stupid even for him.”

“Lord Tywin?” Ser Lewyn offered. “Viserys has been in his care for some time now.”

“No.” Rhaegar shook his head. “I wouldn’t put a power grab beyond Tywin, but with his granddaughter betrothed to Aegon, I cannot see him taking such a risk. Besides, its hardly a winning sequel to Castamere.”

“No, it doesn’t seem his style,” Ser Gerold agreed. He frowned. “We’ll see what information we can find amongst the castle guards, the City Watch. They’re posted everywhere. See and hear nearly as much as Varys’s spies. Surely someone has some useful information. Any man would remember that dagger.”

Rhaegar nodded and dismissed him for the time being. Arthur and Lewyn remained guarding the doors as Jon and Aegon wrestled with their pups and enjoyed the midday sun. He watched them for a long time, wondering.

Viserys might be a fool, but he would never use his own dagger. And yet…

_ He’s every reason to make the attempt, between his pride and jealousy. But anyone who’d been around him long enough would know how corrosive his resentment and character has turned. _

“Boys, I want to speak with you before lunch.”

His sons shared another glance before returning to the table.

“I want your thoughts on this catspaw, just amongst the three of us.”

Aegon hesitated this time, but Jon did not.

“It wasn’t Viserys,” he said bluntly. “He’s not that stupid and besides, he wasn’t at all surprised to see us both when we returned.”

Aegon nodded. “He acted exactly the same toward us on the road north and south. And well…”

“Yes?”

“He doesn’t exactly hide his true feelings when he’s drunk, Father.” Aegon scrunched his face in apology. “He was an ass the entire time. I never saw that dagger on him either.”

“Nor did I.” Jon picked at the table for a moment. “He called me a dragon bastard. The catspaw. Viserys has never questioned that as best I can remember.”

“You aren’t, Jon. You’re as trueborn as myself and Aegon.”

His youngest son nodded, but he didn’t meet Rhaegar’s eyes. Still, the boys’ thoughts gave him some comfort. Neither of them were unaware of the situation’s perplexing elements, and neither were unintelligent in their assessments of Viserys’s nature and the suspicions leveled at him.

“I don’t think it was Viserys either,” Rhaegar told them, and they both looked relieved. “However, its best if we still appear to think so. You’re both not to be alone with him, and extra guards will be posted outside our chambers, your lessons, and the training yard will be limited to just a handful of people. Whoever is responsible may yet be close to his company and take any opportunity to complete the deed himself. Understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And no wandering off, Jon.” He fixed Jon with a stern glance. “No excuses.”

Jon nodded. “Fine. Ghost won’t like that much though.”

“Well, Ghost is going to have to learn to be part of castle life. We’ve no godswood here like the one at Winterfell. And Aegon and Nightfyre…”

The black pup’s head perked up at his name. For a moment, he was almost cute until he growled at them.

“You’ll be departing for Dragonstone soon, son. Twelve is not so young to begin ruling over a castle, and you’ll need as many years as possible adapting to such a role before you’re ready to sit the throne. After your sister’s wedding, you and your mother will leave to take up your seat.”

Aegon paled at his words, but his nod was firm.

“If there  _ is _ a wedding,” Jon said, and he smiled for the first time all day. “I bet Rhaenys runs him through before the bedding.”

“She won’t if she wants to stay a princess,” Rhaegar said, unamused.

Aegon grinned, too. “She’d rather be a warrior, so I think she might.”

Rhaegar sighed. Somedays, he didn’t doubt they were right on that count. If she could be one of Oberyn’s daughters, he was certain she’d rush for the chance at such freedom.

“Come, a quick lunch and then we’ll introduce the court to these twin terrors you’ve brought home.”

Jon’s smile widened. “Excellent. It’s past time they were scared of us properly like they are you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Dany! And then maybe Elia or Rhaenys? Idk, life is weird right now. The whole about to spend a second birthday in quarantine life is definitely hitting a bit hard, but I've also go crazy and started a YouTube channel for Sims 4 stuff, so yanno. I'm zavocado on there, too o.o Cause hobbies. Stuck inside life. Not enough sunlight. That is the vibe, friends, that is the vibe.
> 
> Next update will be Winter's Phoenix and then this one o.o Let the rotations continue!
> 
> So stay safe, wearing ya fucking masks, kick a fascist or 20 in the ass!


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